koreluvsspring

[koreluvsspring]

RED SUN

Clark finally experiences sloppy drunk sex.

cw: 18+, smut, villain!reader, enemies to lovers, red sun!clark, Clark drinks for the first time, under the influence/dub-con, jealous!clark, slow burn, unprotected p-in-v, squirting, creampie, they smash in Fortress, alcohol, premature ejaculation, dry humping, multiple orgasms (3.9k wc)

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE

Clark hasn't seen you since you moved back into your loft a few weeks ago.

Leaving nothing but a tasteful little note on his bedside table.

'Gone thieving. Don't come looking.'

He missed your presence. Frankly, it was ridiculous just how much of a grip you had on him, and like an idiot, he expected more after you'd let your guard down with him. As naive as it was.

Clark soon learned not to take a single one of your absurd eccentricities to heart. Women were a complicated sort, and it definitely didn't help that all Kara's advice had just been, verbatim, just bone her and quit bitchin'.

True to the form of your oddities, he'd found you.

At his doorstep. Out cold, holding a doggy bag that was suspiciously bottle-shaped.

He steps to you cautiously while adjusting the straps of his messenger bag. Clark takes a knee, hand wrapping around your shoulder to shake you. "Hey— hey. Are you alright?"

The second you felt something hold you, you shook awake. Swinging at the stranger, albeit clumsily, "oh hell no!" Your words are slurred, and you hold your fists up in a weak defensive stance.

"Ow! — "Clark jerks backwards, readjusting his glasses. "It's just me, C-Clark!" He slumps back in exhaustion onto the carpeted hallway floors, soothing his jaw with a pout.

You blink, heavy and dazed. Leaning closer, you raise a finger, pointing loosely at him accusingly. Then, you frown,"…youuu're not supershit."

He sighs, begrudgingly. "C'mon. Up you go." You're up on your feet with his firm tug, and he holds you in place by your hips.

"Getcha—…sweaty…..nasty hands awff me!"

"Miss Hera. I am Clark." He shakes you firmly once, your shoulders wobbling to his movements.

You crane your neck up with a familiar ache to stare at him when he takes the name of your alter-ego again. Knowing only one person ever said it. Your gaze flicks over his glasses and the unkempt, messy curls.

"No, you aren't. Clark isn't a fuckin' nerd."

"...Despite that," he pulls his glasses off with a dry look, holding them up. "Hypno-glasses."

You blink dumbly, swaying in place in his arms.

Then, you giggle. Palms slapping flat onto his chest in rapid-fire smacks. "Ohhhh it iss you!" You half-snort in laughter.

Clark bit down another sigh, scooping you up in a one-armed carry while shouldering the front door open.

"Uh-huh…"

He instantly smells the liquor on you, nose scrunching, and eyeing the way you were resting on his shoulders in his peripheral vision. "…How much have you had to drink?"

You blow raspberries. Swinging your feet back and forth, head tipped out of his arms, dangling back free. "Me? Psshhht. Barely anythin'. Two? Twenty bottles?"

He huffs out, "Two and twenty are very different things. Do I even need to ask why — …"

Clark pauses, his eyes catching dark purple hickeys littered down your pulse. His jaw ticks when it registers in his mind. "…you're this inebriated…"

His words taper off by the end of that sentence. He hadn't seen you in weeks. So it meant….you were with someone else at that time.

If Clark was upset, he was doing a damn good job at hiding it.

He sets you down onto his couch gently, brushing your hair away from your cheeks.

"Get some sleep."

Your lips twitch in annoyance. Then, you say something out of character.

"You…. haven't called. Or come-d to see me. Or aaa—nything."

Clark stills from pulling away entirely. Palms braced on the armrest next to your head.

"Was I…supposed to?"

"You tell me!" You shift up to sit on your thighs, in an effort to get as eye level with him as you could. "Youuu're the one whitthhe raging hard on whenever you see me n' suddenly islike you don't even need me!"

He cringes at your choice of words. Dragging his hand down his own face. "First of all. I do not have 'raging' hard—" Clark purses his lips. Not wanting to say it. "Secondly, you told me not to look for you. Was I not supposed to honour your boundaries?"

"Boundaries shmoundaries."

Clark gasps when your palms slap on both sides of his cheeks. Squishing them. He blinks confusedly, nose grazing yours, his lips pressed into a pout under your hold.

"Let's fuck."

He chokes, blinking wildly. "I'm sorry?"

Clark steadies you by your shoulders, trying to pry you off. "I can't —no. No. You're drunk."

"So?"

He groans, holding both your wrists, pulling them off his face. "No." He repeats, resolute.

"You're such a normie. S'not like you've never had a drunken hookup before…"

"…I — I…haven't," he says flatly.

You pulled back briefly, staring at him. "Well thas' a loaddof crap…"

"I'm for real. I don't get drunk."

Your lips part in awe, "what the heck does that mean? Everyone gets drunk."

Clark rubs at the side of his nose, "it's uh…complicated."

You shoot him a look, expression turning all serious. A silent indicator to explain himself.

"My body…metabolises solar radiation. It's what powers me. Earth's yellow sun makes me immune to the effects of alcohol."

You look at him like he'd just admitted to being Bigfoot. "Woahhhkay smartypants." Groaning, you slumped into him. "No wonder you're sooooo uptight."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Y'knowww, uptighttt." You emphasise, yanking him down by his collar. "You act like someone who's never had…like…like. Drunk. Sloppy fuckin'!" You exclaim, shoving his face to the side, pressing your cheeks to his while you draw a pretend rainbow into the air. "No inhibitions, just fuckin' like bunnies. It's a friggin' rite of passage!"

Clark's expression twists into embarrassment at your bluntness. The tips of his ears turning red, "…how…how exactly is that any different from how we've been…"

"Oh forget you. Damn virgin like you wouldunntgetit…"

His eyes twitch. He wasn't going to lie. The idea of it was tempting.

Technically, a chamber that would allow him to experience very real human metabolism did exist in Fortress. A nook where the Red Sun could be manipulated into that little room. He'd temporarily lose his powers as Superman and just be, well, a man.

He rubs the bridge of his nose with his forefingers, feeling a premonition of an imminent disaster.

"…You know. When you said you were bringing me somewhere. I wasn't exactly thinking of the abominable snowman's sanctuary in the middle of the Antarctic."

Your arms curl around your body. Teeth clattering from getting aggressively assaulted by the icy wind that'd pretty much killed your buzz.

His jaw ticks, and in all his good boy seriousness, "Fortress of Solitude." He corrects stubbornly.

"Right…" you mutter, eyes fixated on the still-rising crystal spikes crossing over one another, "because that makes it less creepy."

Clark adjusts the cooler in his grip, steadily trudging through the snow, shooting you a sidelong look.

The temperature hadn't exactly eased even after stepping onto the marbled white linoleum floors. At the very least, you weren't getting murdered by the wind.

You froze suddenly. Instinctively stepping behind Clark. "Okay, I know I'm not drunk anymore. Spent the better off of forty freakin' minutes getting face-whipped by ice. That —" you pointed at the robots, with their numbers plastered onto them. Tilting their heads to your words like they were sentient. "— cannot be real."

Clark doesn't seem alarmed; he looks over his shoulder to you, with his brow raised. "It was a ten-minute ride."

"That's what you're choosing to answer? Not the fact that you have alien roombas hidden here??"

He doesn't follow up, "Gary, please help to calibrate the chamber. Red Spectrum." His companion nodded and casually walked off. You're staring at Clark, incredulous. "You have an android and chose the name Gary for it?"

"…He named himself."

Clark walks ahead, guiding you to the innermost parts of Fortress. You trailed after him, heeled boots clunking — not onto concrete, but carved wild crystal slabs that caught the sunlight from outside, reflecting iridescent.

You staggered back in alarm when the doors crack open, inviting a red glow that suffocated the air around the two of you. He steps inside first, and you see it — how his jaw tenses, shoulders growing slack at the rays seeping into his skin.

"So how exactly does this work? You absorb the sun like you're some plant, and then Superman becomes a man again?" You gesture vaguely at the rotating cylindrical contraption above.

He blinks at you, lips parted in offence. "…Something like that."

Clark stiffens suddenly, the muscles of his back growing taut. His palms press onto the colder walls, forearms braced onto them to stay upright, jaw tensing enough to crack his teeth.

Your fists tense in place, itching to reach out. But you don't move to help. "Should I…be calling your roombas to haul your dead body outta here?"

He turns to look at you, letting out an exasperated huff, "no. I'm fine. Just…takes a second to…adjust."

Clark lingers there for a moment longer with his head bowed, until his breathing evened out. He finally turns to you. Weirdly, he didn't look all that different. But you supposed he'd always been more 'human' than most, even in his usual state.

You arched a brow, looking at him warily, "so….that's it? If I whipped you right now, you'd just die?"

"….That's a fun way to put it. But yeah. Pretty much."

He moved a little slower now, as though testing and getting used to the feeling of his limbs. You watched in curiosity as he pulled out a knitted blanket from the storage structures, shaking it out as he lay it down onto the crystal floors. You snorted.

"Are you joking?"

"…It's practical," he counters defensively, though you see the tips of his ears go pink while setting bottles of booze down.

By the time he'd set the last of them onto the ground, the solarium chambers didn't feel like an alien monument anymore. It felt oddly intimate.

You sat anyway, cross-legged across him. Between the red mood lighting, blanket spread out on the floor, and the alcohol beside, it almost looked like a date. Not that you'd ever acknowledge the thought.

Clark attempts to flick the cap of the bottle open, but he evidently struggles. You rolled your eyes, snatching it from him, "gimme that."

He looks at you, a little defeated, watching as you tip the neck between your teeth, snapping the cap loose with your canines. The metal clanks on the floor.

Clark's eyes widened at that, "wow!" he rasps, an amused look on his face, and he actually starts to clap. Like you'd just pulled off a heist.

Heat creeps up your neck at that. "God. You're such a freakin' dork."

His lips press taut into a shy smile as he clinks the base of your bottle with his. "To…trying something new."

You offer a slight nod, drinking first as you eye him carefully.

He takes a hefty swig from the bottle, coughing almost immediately. "Geezus," he managed, smacking his fists against his chest, the burn clawing at his throat, "that's…different."

You're staring at him with a judgy look, and he seems to catch your gaze, turning away to take another awkward sip.

It was probably your 21st bottle now. So it'd gone down much easier for you. Super-powered metabolism came at a crutch, you supposed. Clark, on the other hand? Not so much. He didn't say anything while he took in the new feeling. Just…staring at you through a half-lidded gaze.

The silence stretched until you nudged at him with the heel of your boots. "You're not already about to pass out after two sips, now are you?"

Clark doesn't respond to you, lips still on the mouth of the bottle, but you see his dimples peek through with a smile, and a shake of his head with a low, mm-mm.

You're leaning back to empty the alcohol in your bottle when Clark suddenly takes a deep inhale.

"I don't get you." He blurts, gesturing at you with his bottle, the liquid sloshing in it. "I-I can't stop thinking about you. You say…mean stuff all the time, but then you — you vanish. And then you're at my front door, and you make me so…so..—"

"Horny?" You finish for him, slightly amused. "No! — …yes. Both. Urgh." Clark grunts, forcing a sniff to mask how flustered he was. "Open another."

You look to the side. At a non-imaginary camera, face twisted in a plea.

What must've been his 6th bottle hits the crystal floors with a hollow clank. Rolling unevenly across until it met the graveyard of empty ones. The solarium twists the sun out of sight — painting the two of you in a syrupy red haze.

For a brief moment, you didn't move. Studying his side profile, down to his throat as he swallowed. He must've felt your stare, because his head turns to you too, glassy-eyed but still so intent.

Clumsily, you half-crawled to him, buzzing with alcohol in your system. Your knees dig into the knitted throw beneath, straddling Clark's lap with little grace. He catches you with ease, bigger hands spanning across the back of your hips. The alcohol warms between your mingled breaths.

His gaze flickers down, and he frowns again. "Were you… —" He mutters, craning his neck back when your lips brush past his. "….Were you with your…ex?"

You slow blink at him, head tilted, sluggish. "Wha—huh?"

His gaze was fixed on the constellation of fresh hickeys across your collarbone, barely covered by your jacket.

"Those," he points out, yanking you closer with one hard jerk. You gasp, delayed, palms splayed on his chest. "You..You…had…sexwithsomeone." He stumbles over his phrasing with a mumble, staring at it with a persistent frown.

"So?" Your voice comes out half-slurred, fists bunching up the fabric of his button-down.

Clark went silent at your casual response,"so…you coulda…just..you didn't need me." He points out, pitch low and sulky.

"Battie's jus' a 'human'…." You shoot back, exasperated and so over the topic already. You're leaning in for a kiss that lands on his cheek when he swerves away.

"Yuh-huh, well! " His words dragged, slightly broken by the clear of his throat, "M'a…I'm 'just a human' now too."

That floored you — point to Clark.

"Yaknow," you mutter, your palms cupping the base of his neck, "you're suuureee as hell ruinin' the vibes right now…"

Clark's jaw tenses at your words. But when your hands pawed up to grab at his face, insistent, he didn't push you away. Letting you clumsily peck the corners of his lips. He's tense at first, but he loosens, parting his own to meet you with open-mouthed kisses.

It turned messy fast. Teeth clacking against one another, mouths missing and landing at the corners of your lips. A giggle slips out, the sound tickling his cheek. Clark doesn't laugh. Far too tense and focused on anchoring you to him, like you might leave him again if he lets go.

He pulls you closer to him until your hips arch against his chest. Each shift had you nudging harder and harder to the pressing, twitching warmth beneath.

You sink into him, feeling the brunt of his growing erection. Hastily, you attempt to undo the button of his shirt. Though it slips stubbornly out of your grip. You pull away from his lips with a pant. Squinting to stare down at the mystifying, impossible-to-undo fastenings.

Clark's looking at you, pupils blown out before he lets out an exasperated groan. "Oh good gosh, jus' —" His hand clamps on the middle, and then tears his shirt open. The buttons flying and clattering all over the room.

You jolt, then break out into a fit of giggles. "Wooooahh—ohhh!" Clark looks up at you, staring blankly. His own gaze fixed on the easy, lop-sided smile on your face, and the sweet laughter of yours he's never heard before. That got to him. A crooked, drunken-dimpled smile betrayed his pretentiously cold exterior.

"Takin' too damned long.." He murmurs against your cheek with a half-smile, pecking down your neck and sternum, catching the exposed bare skin as you pull off your top.

Your hips grind down onto him, and he moans, airy, moving his arm back to rest his weight on his flattened palm on the floor — leisurely watching as you rock your hips.

"A-Am I supposed to do all the work?"

Clark tilts his head, biting down on his lower lip, bucking his hips now and then. "Well…I-I'm just…mmh—…just some human."

You groan, tipping your head back. "You're still on that?" You chase the brief flutters of arousal you felt every time your clit rubbed on his hardness.

Clark's desperate grunts begin to fill the chamber — breathy, pained gasps every time your hips jerked past the top of his bulge. "I-It bothers me."

You're pulling at his belt roughly, earning a grunt from him, yanking his slacks. "Jesus, you're such a baby…"

Clark grits his teeth when you rub against his erection. The heat was growing unbearable with just the thin fabric of his boxers separating the two of you.

"But you —…" You grab at his jaw, forcing him to face you, and you rock into him — hard. Clark looks at you intensely as you begin to grind onto him. The growing slickness makes his balls draw tight.

"Enough." You mutter, leaning down to lick up his cheekbones, "I love fucking you."

Clark's eyes widen at your whisper, head tipped to the side as you nibble at his earlobe. At your harder-than-necessary grind on his bulge, he gasped and stuttered.

Your hips stall in their movements, and you perk up. He felt his cock throb beneath his boxers and a wetness that pooled right at his tip. Clark looks at you, equally shocked.

"I —…" He croaks. Unable to find the words.

"That…some…some guys…when they're drunk —"

"Don't."

"Cummin' in your pants like some virgin…" You mutter, with an amused grin. His grip around your waist turns bruising, and he peeks over, embarrassed, "please, just —"

"Thaaat was hot."

His breath catches in his throat. You lift your head just enough to drag your finger down his cheek.

"Are ya gon' fuck me forreal now? Or do I hafta go find B—"

Clark hoists you up as he sits upright, tugging his boxers down in a fluid movement. His half-hard, cum-slick cock slaps up to his abdomen. Sticky white smearing against the coarse hairs littered beneath his navel. You smirk, running your fingers down the stickiness, and you drag it down to the base of his balls.

"G-Gosh…" he grunts, chest rising and dipping heavier, getting painfully hard once more. Clark catches your wrists when you notch the tip of his cock into your folds. Stopping you. "W-Wait! We need to…Ineed to get you ready —"

"I already did." You breathe out quickly, bunching the gusset of your panties to the side.

"H-Huh?"

You pull your hand away from his loose grip, hooking your fingers around his length to angle him back into you. "Stretched it out. Um…fore' I came over." There's a tinge of embarrassment at your admission, with the way your words come out stiffly.

Clark swears he sees stars when your pussy welcomes his cock with ease. Hot, velvet walls accommodating him like a glove. He lets out a shaky grunt, looking up at you with unrestrained lust.

Your eyes nearly roll back when you take in half of him. With your palms perched on his chest, you push down further, pussy fluttering and stretching around his girth.

Clark's lips are chasing yours, kissing your jaw while you lazily thrust down. Your cunt clenches tight around him, the wet obscene noises of the first few slaps echoing through the chamber.

"O-Oh fuck —..so-so..sososo good…." You whine out loudly, earning a harsher hold from Clark. You attempt to slam down, but his cock slips right out at your messy thrust.

He lifts his head a little, watching you try to notch him back into your pussy. "Just — hold on!" Clark reaches beneath, trying to adjust himself, but you keep squirming above.

With an exaggerated whine, his arm curls around your waist to flip you under him.

His hand blindly fumbles beneath, angling himself to push back into you.

Clark's palms are around the fat of your thighs, easing the way you had them clenched at his hips.

"G-Geez..I — can't even move —" His breathy words leave a burning sensation up your neck.

"It's cuz you just yoinked me! I've got ten tons a freakin' booze in me, stupid asshole." You grit, cheeks puffed out, holding back your hurl.

"S…Sorry. I jus'…really…need you to r-relax." Clark's head slumps into your shoulders. Stilling his movements. "F'not…I-I might…just..end up — cumming again."

Your palms slide up his shoulders, hesitant, stopping short at the back of his neck. "So just do it, wuss." you breathe out, all too desperate.

"You're…gonna kill me. Gonna…kill me.." His voice is shaky, barely above a whisper. Clark adjusts his hold on you, then he thrusts into you once, and hard.

A stuttered grunt leaves you. His cock was so deep, you swore he could've knocked you up for real if he really wished.

Your head falls back, resting on the blanket. Something catches your gaze for a second when you look at the ceiling, and your lips part in a soft gasp.

Because who would've thought that Superman's super-secret home base, built entirely out of crystal, was polished enough to double as mirrors.

Which also meant you had a front row view of the way his hips moved while he fucked you. Specifically, the way his back muscles flexed and rolled at every thrust. Your jaw slackens, the sight hypnotising you, your nails clawing into his back, low pressure in your abdomen building.

"Shit…shit, Clark — wait, I'm gonna —"

"I-It's…okay. Let go." He's hiking you closer to him with a harsh tug, but you're shaking your head. Squirming beneath his massive build. "N-No, not that! I-I'm — It's.."

You pant quickly, and without warning, the pressure in you releases entirely at his thrust. Your hips tense as you squirt on his cock, in heavy, stuttered mewls. White flashes take over you. Clark's blinking in slight shock, eyes fixated on your warmth gushing all over him.

He grunts into the side of your head, his own release hitting him all at once — cum bubbling deep into you as you pulse around him.

Your thighs are quivering uncontrollably in the aftermath, forearms resting over your eyes in slight embarrassment. "I told you! I-I told you that I was gonna…"

"Hey — hey, it's okay. It's okay."

Clark shushes you, his palm cradled at the back of your head, soothing your hair down. Your vision's coming to still, and his kisses ground you with an aggravating gentleness. "Stupid—freakin'…superfreak."

He grunts at your newfound nickname for him. Thumbing at your still-shaky body absent-mindedly. Clark pulls out, his cum leaking out of you, damn near immediately. His jaw tenses at the sight.

"Let's…just get you cleaned up."

[koreluvsspring]

#stopmakingclarkcuss

[koreluvsspring]

♣ In which husband!toji gets kissed at a bar and you refuse to kiss him as punishment…he is not pleased 18+

“Kiss me,” he growls. 

Panting, drool dripping down your chin, you reply, “No.”

The night had started out like normal – heading down to the bar to catch up with friends, saying hello to said friends, grabbing drinks, and chatting. It was lovely to take a break from routine, to get out of sweats and dress up, to look at something other than a TV screen, even if Toji was watching a game on a TV with all the other men anyway. Conversations flowed, the weather was pleasant, drinks came and went, and you wondered why you didn’t do this more often.

Things took a turn for the worse though when you looked away from your husband’s hard-to-miss form to pat your friend on the back, consoling her over her recent break up, only to glance back at your man to see him in the clutches of another woman. 

She dug her nails into his shirt, snatching him from his spot, and smacking her lips against his. It was only for a second. The quickest second. Really. Barely even a blink of an eye and she was shoved back and cursed out with a disgusted scowl of a man just wanting a drama-free night. That should have been it. You should have rolled your eyes and turned back around, but you didn’t. Of course, you didn’t. Instead, you marched over, rings nimbly transferred over to the other hand, crowd parting, and you smacked that bitch right off her feet. 

Gasps and murmurs rippled in the bar. 

You didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing a mark form on her face or the tear well up in her eyes because as fast as you got there, you were taken away by strong, heavy arms.

That was about an hour ago.

Now?

Now, you’re in the driver’s seat of his car, straddling his lap and bouncing on his hard, leaking cock. Parked some minutes away, the car is out of sight from the main road and rocking on its wheels as he relentlessly fucks up into you. 

It’s messy. It’s dirty. It’s so fucking good. 

Toji’s scraping his sharp canines down the column of your neck, licking the path he carves and murmuring encouragement on your sweaty skin. His hair is a mess, pulled and twisted by your shaking hands. Windows fogged up, leather sticking and creaking, and bodies pressed tightly together. Every single little thing is driving you wild. 

“Fuck, so fucking tight,” he breathes out through gritted teeth, fingers digging into your ribs as he holds you up and lets you down, using gravity to worm his fat cock inside your pulsing pussy. “Feel good, ma? Hmm?”

Delirious, you can barely hear what he’s saying. Still, you cling onto him and onto reality enough to whimper out, “Y-yeah. Feels good. Feels so fucking -ngh!- g-good. More, Toji. Fuck me harder.”

"Then give me my damn kiss."

"Fuck off—FUCK! Toji, fuck, I can't -ngh- it's too much, s-slow -hngh!-down!"

The petty bastard slammed his cock up inside you, using those powerful, meaty thighs to ram the thick thing inside your sensitive walls. Juices splash onto your skin.

Thoroughly grumpy, he mutters to himself, "Can't get no damn -mmm- break round here. Just wanted a fucking drink. Now my damn girl won't give her -hah- husband a stupid."

THRUST!

"Fucking."

THRUST!

"Kiss."

THRUST!

Voice hoarse, you briefly wonder how no one has found you by now. How no one has heard you scream bloody murder. Maybe they don't care. Maybe there's no one around. Maybe they have noticed and know better than to get in the way of a huge, burly man with one thing on his mind: get you to cave.

Your clothes are still on, just pushed to the side or scrunched up and out of the way. He rips your shirt up, burying his face between your bouncing tits. The scruff of his facial hair tickles the sensitive skin there and he wastes no time consuming a nipple, tongue flicking and lips sucking.

SQUELCH! SQUELCH!

The whining, the moaning, the slapping of skin, the grunting, the mixing of juices, it’s all obscene. If anyone were to catch you, you’d be in big trouble, and that knowledge alone is making your eyes roll back.

It’s a tight fit in here and yet, you don’t seem to care about the fact that your head is bumping onto the car ceiling or that the wheel is poking your back. There’s just about enough space for you to grind your hips in tight circles, rubbing your swollen clit onto the hairs at his base, making them slick and shiny. 

“‘m close,” Toji warns, voice muffled whilst he slobbers all over your breasts, “give me a -hah- kiss.”

You shake your head, clamping down onto his scalding cock, loving the way his cockhead meets your g-spot over and over again. “No.”

Groaning, he comes out from under your shirt to glare at you, tongue swiping his bottom lip in frustration. “Fuck you mean, ‘no?’ I want my kiss, woman.”

“And I wanted my husband to not let strangers touch him up. Guess we’re both -hah- d-disappointed.”

He furrows his brows. “You know I didn’t mean for that shit to -ngh fuck don't tighten up so suddenly- t-to happen. She caught me off guard. Pushed her ass away immediately when I realised.”

A hand slides down your stomach, thumb dragging until they meet your clit. Your back arches. “Mm, fuck! I know, Toji. I know. She assaulted you and that’s why she got her ass handed to her. Fuck, I just…it still hurts to see, alright? I don’t want to kiss lips that have just touched another woman’s. Not my husband's. Not yours.”

Toji huffs, spare hand wiping drool from your chin with a tender touch. “Yeah, I get it. I’d be pissed the fuck off if someone did that to you. Woulda killed the bastard.”

“You’ve done that before. Many times.”

He continues like he didn’t hear you. “Shit was hot, by the way. Fuck, you didn’t even hesitate. Knocked her back and stumbling onto the stools. Bet she’s embarrassed as hell.”

In many ways, you’re sure Toji wishes his life wasn’t ruled by violence, but it’d be foolish to pretend that violence doesn’t turn him on, that it’s practically his love language. It’s not the blood, the fading of life from the eyes, or the pay off, it’s the reason. You aren’t a mindless killer. You’re a fighter, a woman who’ll go to the ends of the earth for the people you love, and no matter how many times he’s got you ass up and face down on the bed, muscles sore, limbs bound, and body wrangled to his liking, you always get back up again to give him a run for his money. 

That indomitable spirit inside you never fails to make his cock grow hot and heavy, and his heart swelling up with something he never knew he deserved.

“Got fucking lucky with you, didn’t I?” He murmurs, nose skimming your jaw and breath fanning your skin, warm and tingly. “My scary girl.”

Smiling, you retort, “And don’t you forget it.” 

Then, you two start back up again, hips meeting each other despite the tight constraints. 

SQUELCH! SQUELCH! SQUELCH!

SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!

You’re both grunting like beasts now, chasing the pleasure and rutting into each other with no rhyme or reason, just an animalistic urge to stake your claim. There’ll be bruises and cuts on your skin tomorrow, and they’ll serve as a reminder that when all is said and done, there’s no one taking him home but you. 

Maybe that’s why when he whispers against your lips, not an order, not a command, but a plea, you aren’t pulling away like before. “Please, baby? Give this old man a kiss, yeah? Wanna cum –thaaaat’s it, grind your clit against me, fuckkk atta girl– w-wanna cum kissing you. Let me, alright? Can’t cum without a -hmm fuck- kiss, you know that. P-please, ma. I’ll make it good. Wanna -hngh!- taste you. Wanna f-feel you. Fuck, I need it.”

You cradle his jaw, tilting his head back and watching the gloss in his usually piercing eyes shine. He’s just as fucked out as you, just as desperate to wipe the slate clean, and he’s never looked more endearing. Here, in the palms of your hands, sits a tall, broad-shouldered killing machine, begging for some love. 

Toji looks like a boy on his knees praying for mercy. 

Mercy only you can give. 

And so you do. 

As soon as your lips skim his, he’s diving forward and devouring your offering. It’s a downright feast, a banquet, a final meal. It’s a clash of teeth, a war of tongues, and a peaceful exchange of love, of apologies and forgiveness. Inside you, his cock throbs. Once. Twice. And for a final time. 

Searing cum paints your walls, ropes and ropes of it flooding your dripping cunt. Toji’s grunt squeals into a whine. Fuck, did he just whimper?

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he repeats again and again.

He’s panting into your mouth, refusing to part ways for even a second. The way his eyes roll back and his body quivers against yours let you in on the fact that the man is lightheaded and growing dangerously so the longer he keeps your lips against his with a possessive hand to the back of your head. 

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

Head lolling around, you lift it using a handful of his hair, making sure he can clearly see the fat dollop of drool hanging from your mouth. His lips part instinctively, tongue outstretched to catch all of it. When it makes contact, he groans, a deep rumble in his chest and a sudden pulsing of his cock coming back to life inside you. 

Scowling, you give him a grave stare, stern and unrelenting. “Let a woman touch you again, touch what’s mine, and you’re dead meat, Fushiguro.”

His scar stretches with his lazy grin. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

[koreluvsspring]

...ʟᴏᴀᴅɪɴɢ...

.ᴢ

.ᴢ

.ᴢ

𝓘 𝓬𝓪𝓷 𝓼𝓮𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾...

Taglist: @sweeeetjjk

sᴛᴀʟᴋᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ʟᴏsᴇʀ! ᴄʜᴏsᴏ

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴍʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ғɪᴄ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪs ᴀᴄᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ ғɪʀsᴛ ғɪᴄ ғᴏʀ ᴄʜᴏsᴏ- sᴏ ᴀɴʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴄᴏɴsᴛʀᴜᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴄʀɪᴛɪᴄɪsᴍ ɪs ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ! ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀғʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏʀ ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴇ.

--------------------

You saw him through the window of the coffee shop you always pass on your way to your work. He was sitting there, typing away on a phone, blushing like crazy- you smirked, he looked so... pathetic.

The doorbell jingled away happy as you opened the door, walking up to the counter, ordering. You sit down two tables away from the blushing man, his cute little buns look like they were defiantly done in a hurry, and they're falling out a little more with each movement he makes. He sips his drink, you're not close enough to read the name on the cup from where you are in the low light of dusk, and the cafe only has those little fairy lights as lighting.

Eventually, you name is called, and you take your order from the counter, when you walk back over, you sit closer to the man- noticing that his blush has died down- only one table away from him now. You can read the name on his cup now, "Kamo".

--------------------------------------

This little routine continues, for the next few weeks- you learn his first name is Choso, and find him online, he mainly posts his brother, Yujji, and his friends. He reposts music stuff, he plays bass, and he's in a band. You went to a gig last week; the lead singer was sleazy and the other guys played well, but the backing vocals sucked. He played well, and he didn't sing, but you think he saw you there- based purely on how much he blushed, but that could come from overheating under the stage lights too.

You also stalked his private Instagram- on your spam, obviously, you're not stupid- it's mostly concerts, his brother, a few gym pics, and more concerts. You made a mental list of his favorite bands and filed it away for later use.

But it appears he posted one photo from in front of his house- and geotagged it on accident. Oh boy- you were having a field day! You drove past his house every day now- but right now you watch him through his window, waiting for him to leave for his concert. His brother is picking him up in fifteen minutes, and Choso is putting in the last of his earrings right now.

You've created the perfect spot- you can see him, and he can't see you, nor can you be spotted from the road, even with high beams. You can hear the baseline of what you assume is a song by The Cure, as that is the concert tonight.

You jump as Yujji lays on the horn from the driveway, and immediately duck down until you hear the front door slam behind Choso while he runs down the steps to Yujji's truck. Then you slip inside the already open window, no alarms, no locks, just quiet entry and quick construction of the cameras to attach them to the small corners- right where he can't see them, a perfect line of sight to his whole room, and connected right to your computer at home.

-------------------------------

You've been watching him for a while; he watches so much porn. Too much, if you're honest- you can't see his screen, but he plays the audio out loud and you can hear the man on the screen whimpering, the sounds of edging, begging, the squelches of some form of penetration, vaginal or otherwise. He whines as he jacks off, pleading into the empty room for release- begging to cum, squeezing the base of his cock to keep from busting, he edges himself, over and over until the woman in the porn video tells the whimpering man he can finish- then he quickens his movements, eyes rolling back, toes curled, head thrown back, spurts of white liquid coming from his cock, as his body trembles in the aftershocks.

You bite your lip, leaning forward in your seat- this is your favorite part. He reaches down and pulls out a box- you know the contents, a pair of lacy black panties, some perfume you don't know the name of, and some Polaroids you slipped into it during your last visit- of you, obviously, but you managed it so you can only see the lacy black bra and panty set, not your face- he knows he has a stalker, but from what you can tell you're filling out some twisted little fantasy he has- he brings the panties to his mouth, sniffing in the scent of the perfume he has sprayed on them, almost huffing it, really- he is honestly the most pathetic man you've ever mee or seen.

His cock hardens again, but he just shoves it back into his sweats- not even bothering to clean himself off- what you wouldn't give to clean that cum off with your tongue, then spit into his mouth, to make him swallow down his own semen, to force him into the realization of his own degenerate ways. God- you're soaked just thinking about it, you reach down a hand and quickly rub out an orgasm while he continues to slurp on those panties like someone is sitting on his face, knowing later you'll break in and leave your own slick on them- cause he's been such a good boy, why not give him a reward?

__________________________________________________ END ______

A/n: Thanks for reading and sorry not sorry for blue balling you at the end, I'll link part two when it's done! 😘

[koreluvsspring]

𝐀𝐎𝐓 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧!𝐛𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

✞ ⋆ 𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡

✧ Attack on Titan men as nervous, inexperienced boyfriends discovering intimacy for the first time ✧ Oral giving, Oral receiving, Dry humping, Fingering ✧ These drabbles are set later in the timeline when the characters are older. None of the scenarios depict them as underage.

✞ ⋆ Eren Yeager

virgin!Eren who always talked big. “I’ll make you feel so good, you’ll never look at anyone else,” he’d said weeks ago, trying to puff up his chest and act like he knew what he was doing. But when it actually came down to it, when you were on your knees between his thighs, kissing the sensitive skin just below his belly button, all of that cocky bravado vanished.

virgin!Eren who swore up and down that he could handle it, but stiffens the moment he feels your lips against his dick. His hands grip the sheets, unsure if he should push or pull, overwhelmed by the warmth and wetness. “F-fuck” he tried, but every time you took him deeper, his words broke off into helpless gasps. He couldn’t keep still, hips twitching upward despite his best efforts, eyes squeezed shut as if it was all too much to take in.Every flick of your tongue makes him shiver, hips bucking subtly, and he moans softly, embarrassed but powerless to stop it. His chest rises too fast, eyes half-lidded, and when you tease the tip with your tongue, he swallows thickly, utterly lost in the sensation.

virgin!Eren when he finally spilled, it was with a desperate cry, whole body arching as though the pleasure was too much for him to bear. His chest heaved, sweat sticking to his hairline, and he stared at you with wide, dazed eyes, lips parted in disbelief. “I-I didn’t mean to… that fast,” he admitted hoarsely, embarrassed. But the way his cock twitched again when you licked your lips told you he was completely undone.

✞ ⋆ Jean Kirstein

virgin!Jean had been nervous all night, hands twitching like he wanted to touch you but didn’t know where to start. When you finally laid back, tugging him down your body, he swallowed hard, throat bobbing.

virgin!Jean who kissed his way down your stomach like he was stalling for courage, cheeks flushed and eyes darting up to check if you were okay. “I… I wanna try,” he admitted softly, spreading your thighs with hesitant fingers. His lips hovered just above you before he finally pressed a kiss to your soaked folds, shuddering at your taste. Your sharp gasp when he flicked your clit made his own cock twitch, and he repeated it, again and again, desperate to keep hearing you like that. Soon his hands were holding your thighs wide, keeping you from closing them around his head when his mouth grew bolder, sucking and licking like he was starved for you. His hand occasionally brushes your hips, thumb brushing your clit, and he grins sheepishly every time you gasp or mewl his name.

virgin!Jean when you gasped his name, fingers tangling in his hair, he nearly lost it. His cock strained against his jeans, throbbing painfully, but he didn’t care. All he could think about was you, the way you writhed under his mouth, the desperate noises spilling from your lips. He held you down when your hips jerked, tongue circling your clit with sloppy persistence until you came undone, trembling and gasping his name. When he finally pulled back, chin glistening, Jean looked wrecked, pupils blown and lips swollen. “Fuck,” he breathed, dazed. “I wanna do that again. And again. And again.”

✞ ⋆ Connie Springer

virgin!Connie who had tackled you onto the couch, tickling until you squirmed beneath him, both of you laughing breathlessly. But then his hips shifted, grinding down by accident, and the sound you made wasn’t laughter anymore. His breath hitched, and he froze, eyes wide. “Shit, I-sorry, I didn’t mean-” But then your hands tugged him back down, and his brain short-circuited. “F-fuck, okay,” he stammered, pressing against you again. The friction made his head spin, his cock straining painfully against his sweats. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, muffling a shaky groan as his hips rocked down harder.

virgin!Connie when the couch squeaked under your bodies, and his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer so he could chase the friction that made his head spin. “Fuck... y-you feel so good, even like this,” he stammered, muffling a whimper against your neck when your hips pushed back harder. He couldn’t control the way he rutted against you, messy and desperate, every brush of your heat through your clothes making him throb. Your little moans only spurred him on, and soon his movements were frantic, almost needy, grinding down like he wanted to melt into you. He didn’t care how clumsy it was, he was lost in the dizzy, overwhelming rush of finally having you like this, and he couldn’t get enough.

virgin!Connie when your thighs clenched around his hips, pulling him closer, and he whined, rutting against you with desperate urgency. Each thrust dragged his cock against the damp spot growing between your clothes, and it made him shiver all over. “I’m-shit, I-I can’t hold it-” he babbled, hips jerking faster until he came with a muffled cry into your neck, body trembling against yours. He stayed there, still grinding softly like he couldn’t stop. When he finally pulled back, face flushed and eyes hazy, he grinned sheepishly. “Uh… round two?”

✞ ⋆ Armin Arlert

virgin!Armin who's hands shook the first time you guided them down between your thighs. He looked at you like he was afraid of breaking something precious, blue eyes wide and shining in the low light. “Are you sure?” he whispered, voice almost pleading. But when you nodded, pressing his palm against your heat, his lips parted in awe. His fingers traced over your damp folds, hesitant, testing. The soft gasp you let out made his cheeks flush scarlet, and he swallowed hard before slipping one finger inside.

virgin!Armin when his breathing was shallowed, blue eyes darting between your flushed face and where his trembling fingers pumped inside you. When your moan slipped out, his lips parted in awe, encouraging him to curl his fingers to hit the right spots. His other hand spreads your thighs gently, fingertips brushing over your inner legs, leaving faint marks. Your thighs twitched around him, and the way your body clamped down had him nearly breathless, wide-eyed as he realised he was the one doing this to you. Each soft whimper you made made heat rushing to his dick, his movements turning steadier, more purposeful, until your hips were grinding against his hand.

virgin!Armin when his thumb brushed your clit accidentally, and you cried out, his breath hitched. “D-did I-? Was that good?” he stammered. At your nod, he repeated it, thumb circling while his fingers curled experimentally inside you. The way you gasped and grabbed at his wrist made his own head spin. “God, you’re beautiful like this,” he whispered, almost to himself, as you came undone on his hand. He pulled his fingers out slowly, staring at them glistening with your slick, then up at you with wide eyes, as if he couldn’t believe he’d just done that. “…I wanna learn everything about you,” he said softly, breathless, “every single way to make you feel like that.”

[koreluvsspring]

I think it would be beyond adorable if during the pregnancy Y/N makes a quilt! Maybe she asks Ma for help and they reuse clark’s old clothes and on the other side maybe just some pretty pink fabrics! And it becomes Leia’s favorite blanket and a reminder of her mother’s love?? ykwim!! It’s sort of how y/n copes with the journey of being pregnant and worries of being a mother but also the excitement? And i could see clark loving the idea but not liking the amount of time it takes to make one and forcing her to take breaks! 😫

A Smallville Christmas Surprise

Summary: You and Clark add a new ornament to Ma and Pa Kent’s christmas tree. You start nesting, and see just how much the Kent men love.

Clark Kent x Female!Pregnant!Reader (pregnant with Leia!)

more kent family adventures here!

The farmhouse smelled like cinnamon and apple pie, a warmth that wrapped around you the moment you walked through the door. Snow clung to your boots, melting into tiny puddles on the welcome mat as Clark carried in the last of your bags.

“Clark, honey, leave those there! Dinner’s almost ready,” Martha called from the kitchen, voice filled with that same gentle kindness you’d adored since the first time you met her.

“Smells amazing, Ma,” Clark said, kissing her cheek as he set down the bags and shrugged off his coat. Jonathan came in from the barn, brushing snow from his jacket, his face lighting up the second he saw you.

“There’s our girl!” Jonathan said warmly, pulling you into a hug that nearly crushed you. “You surviving out there with this big lug?”

You laughed, glancing at Clark. “Barely. He eats half the groceries before I can even cook them.”

Clark grinned, pretending to look offended. “Not true. I leave some for you.”

Dinner was perfect—Martha’s roast, homemade rolls, and her famous peach cobbler for dessert. The fire crackled in the living room as you all gathered around the tree afterward. You couldn’t stop touching the small velvet box in your pocket, the one that held the ornament you’d made.

Now or never.

Clark met your eyes across the room. He knew what was coming. You saw the way his breath caught, how his fingers curled around his mug of cocoa just a little tighter. You nodded softly.

“Actually,” you said, standing and moving toward the tree, “I brought something for the tree this year.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t have to—” Martha started, but stopped when you carefully opened the box. Inside was a delicate glass ornament, shaped like a snow globe, with a tiny wooden farmhouse inside. Hanging from the top in swirling script were the words: Baby Kent – Coming Summer 2025.

You held it out for them to see.

Martha’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my… oh, honey!” Her voice cracked as tears filled her eyes. “Are you—are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

She turned the ornament toward Pa, who stared at it like his mind was trying to catch up with his heart.

“Is this—?” His voice cracked, deep and raw.

Clark stood, towering but trembling, his jaw tight as he swallowed back emotion. “Yeah, Pa,” he said softly. “You’re gonna be grandparents.”

The words seemed to break something loose inside Jonathan Kent. Tears filled his eyes—tears that he didn’t bother hiding—and he rose to his feet in a rush. Clark met him halfway, and suddenly father and son were wrapped in a fierce, unshakable embrace. Pa’s strong hands gripped Clark’s shoulders like he never wanted to let go.

“I’m so proud of you,” Pa choked out, voice thick. “So proud of the man you’ve become… and now—you’re gonna be a dad.”

Clark’s breath hitched, a sound almost like a laugh, but tears streaked his cheeks, glistening in the glow of the Christmas lights. “Thanks, Pa,” he whispered, clinging just as tightly. “Couldn’t have asked for a better example.”

Ma was crying too, cradling the ornament to her chest before rushing to you, enveloping you in a hug so warm it nearly knocked the air from your lungs. “Sweetheart,” she whispered, voice trembling with joy. “This is the best Christmas gift we could ever ask for.”

You hugged her back, tears prickling your own eyes, and for a moment, the world felt impossibly perfect—snow outside, warmth inside, and a family growing in love.

When Clark finally pulled back from his father, his face was red-eyed but radiant. He looked at you then, the way he always did—like you were his whole universe—and slipped an arm around your shoulders, drawing you close.

-

Clark’s old bedroom smelled faintly of cedar and laundry soap, the same as it must have when he was a boy. The slanted ceiling still bore faint scuffs from the model airplanes he used to hang, and the shelves were lined with dusty trophies and yellowed books. You’d claimed a corner of the room, spreading out fabric across the old desk and floor, and that’s where Ma found you most afternoons—nesting.

Together, you and Ma had decided on the quilt. A family tradition, she said. Something made with love, something the baby would one day wrap themselves in like a piece of history. You’d smiled through tears at the idea, and Martha had wasted no time digging through trunks in the attic for Clark’s old clothes.

You laid out the pieces on the bed now—soft, worn cotton, frayed jeans, plaid flannels that still carried the ghost of farm dust, and even Clark’s old Smallville High football jersey. The red and gold number 8 was faded, but Ma smoothed it with reverent fingers as though it were made of silk.

“Clark used to think wearing this made him invincible,” she said with a fond laugh, pinning the fabric square in place. “Jonathan had to keep reminding him to… well, play human.”

You grinned, stitching one corner carefully, imagining a lanky teenage Clark bounding down the field, all elbows and too much heart. “I can picture it,” you murmured. “Our baby’s going to grow up wrapped in stories like these.”

Ma’s hand paused mid-stitch, and she looked at you with eyes soft as the lamplight. “That’s the beauty of it. This quilt—it won’t just keep the baby warm. It’ll carry memories. Clark’s childhood. This farm. The love that built this home.”

You swallowed hard against the lump in your throat, your fingers smoothing over a square cut from one of Clark’s plaid shirts. The fabric was soft, edges uneven, but perfect. “They’ll know where they come from,” you said softly.

Ma nodded, her smile a little misty. “And they’ll know they’re loved, even before they’re born.”

The two of you worked for hours, side by side, the steady rhythm of the needle weaving thread not just through cloth, but through generations. Occasionally, Clark would pop his head into the room, leaning against the doorway with that crooked smile. He’d pretend to tease, “You’re destroying my fashion legacy”, but his eyes always shone when he looked at you bent over the quilt with his mother.

By the time evening settled and snow began to fall outside, you and Ma had pieced together the first few rows. It wasn’t finished, but already, it looked like a tapestry of a life—reds, blues, flannels, and jerseys stitched into something new. You traced a hand over the fabric, imagining tiny fingers tugging at it one day, or a small, sleeping body tucked beneath its warmth.

Ma set her needle aside and touched your shoulder gently. “This baby is going to be surrounded by so much love,” she whispered, and in that moment, you felt it down to your bones—the farmhouse walls, Clark’s steady presence, Ma’s unwavering devotion, and Pa’s quiet strength.

Home.

And soon, you’d be bringing new life into it.

-

The quilt had begun to take shape now, its patchwork squares stitched with love and patience, the fabric infused with memory. You and Ma sat by the wide farmhouse window, the afternoon sun slanting golden across the kitchen table. Spools of thread and scraps of fabric lay scattered between the two of you, but the work slowed as your attention kept drifting outside.

Clark and Jonathan were in the field, shoulders bent beneath the pale blue sky. They worked in tandem, hauling feed and checking fences, every motion easy, practiced—father and son in perfect rhythm. Clark slowed his pace to match Jonathan’s, his broad form so much larger than his father’s but his respect written in the way he didn’t rush ahead. Pa would glance over every so often, nodding or chuckling, and Clark would grin that boyish grin that still made your heart stumble.

Ma’s needle paused in midair, her gaze softened on the sight. “Those Kent men,” she said, almost to herself, but you heard the warmth layered in her voice.

You smiled, smoothing a square of Clark’s old flannel against your growing belly. “They love harder than anyone I’ve ever known,” you admitted. “It’s overwhelming sometimes—like being caught in the middle of a storm and realizing it’s the safest place you’ll ever be.”

Ma looked at you then, her eyes shimmering, her smile deep and knowing. “That’s exactly it,” she said softly. “When Jonathan loves, he does it with his whole heart. He carries it in his work, in the way he provides, in the way he protects. And Clark…” She trailed off, her throat tightening with pride. “Clark learned that from him. He may be extraordinary in ways the world can’t imagine, but his truest gift is how deeply he feels.”

You traced the seam you’d just sewn, your fingers lingering over the stitches. “Sometimes I wonder if I can ever live up to it. The way Clark looks at me, the way he already loves this baby…” You let out a quiet laugh, breath trembling. “It’s more than I ever dreamed I could deserve.”

Ma reached across the table, resting her hand over yours, steady and warm. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said firmly, “you don’t have to ‘live up’ to anything. That’s not how love works. Clark chose you because you already are his heart. And this child—” she glanced at your belly, her smile trembling, “is going to grow up surrounded by that same kind of love. The kind that doesn’t bend or break. The kind that shelters.”

You blinked against the sting of tears, watching as Clark bent to lift a beam with casual strength, Jonathan steadying the other end. They laughed at something, their voices carrying faintly on the wind through the open window. And in that moment, it hit you with breathtaking clarity: this was the world your child would be born into. A love that was steady as the soil beneath your feet, fierce as the summer storms, and tender as the quilt slowly forming between your hands.

You turned back to Ma, whispering, “You’re right. It’s overwhelming… but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

Her hand squeezed yours once more, her smile soft as a prayer. “Neither would I.”

-

The window creaked open with a rush of cool air, and you jumped when two familiar shadows fell across the table. Ma laughed under her breath as Jonathan and Clark appeared in the doorway, boots tracking in faint dust, their cheeks pink from the chill outside.

Clark’s eyes went immediately to you, always to you, and then to the quilt spread out across the table. His whole face softened, that earnest awe he carried whenever the baby was mentioned. “You’ve both been working on this all afternoon?” he asked, brushing dirt off his hands as he leaned closer to study the patchwork. His smile grew, boyish and almost shy. “It’s… beautiful. I can’t believe that’s my old jersey.”

Ma smirked, tugging at one of the squares. “I told her it would make a fine centerpiece.”

Jonathan leaned over his wife’s shoulder, nodding slowly, eyes misty in that quiet way of his. “That’s going to keep this little one warm through every winter they’ll ever see on this farm,” he said, voice low and certain, as though he were making a promise.

But Clark’s gaze flicked back to you, narrowing just a little. He noticed the way you pressed a hand to your lower back, the way your shoulders sagged from hours bent over a needle. Without a word, he slid the quilt aside and pulled out a chair. “That’s enough for today,” he said firmly, looking between you and Ma with his arms folded, every inch the protective son and soon-to-be father.

“Clark—” you started, half laughing, half exasperated.

“Nope,” he cut in, shaking his head. “You’ve been sitting here sewing since lunch, and you need a break. The quilt’s not going anywhere.”

Ma chuckled, trading a knowing glance with Jonathan. “He gets that from his father,” she said. “Always thinking the womenfolk don’t know when to rest.”

Jonathan chuckled softly, but his eyes shone as he laid a gentle hand on Clark’s shoulder. “He gets it honest, Martha. You know I can’t stand to see you work yourself to the bone either.”

Clark helped you stand, his hand lingering at your elbow like you were made of porcelain. “I love this quilt,” he admitted softly, brushing his thumb over a patch of flannel before tucking you closer against him, “but nothing’s more important than you and the baby.”

The tenderness in his voice made your throat tighten. He pressed a kiss to your temple, and you felt him breathe in, steady and grounding himself in your presence. Jonathan watched the gesture in silence, his jaw working, pride and love etched deep into every line of his face.

And then, as if to prove Ma right, father and son stood there together—two Kent men who carried their love in ways so overwhelming, so absolute, that it filled the farmhouse to its beams. Strong hands, soft hearts, and an insistence that you and the life you carried would never go without protection or care.

It was enough to make you laugh through your tears as you leaned against Clark and whispered, “Fine. A break. But only because you’re impossible to argue with.”

Clark’s smile broke wide, triumphant and tender all at once. “Good. I’ll even make the cocoa.”

Jonathan clapped his son on the back with a laugh, and Ma reached over to squeeze your hand again. Around the quilt, around the table, around this family—the love was so strong, it was impossible not to feel it pressing against your heart.

-

taglist

@vql3rie @celestialend @diannelucille @minienix @evermoresivy @nixandtonic @bl00dstained @tqd4455 @vestafir @sweettbepbo @skzvibes-blog @sweetheartdiariess @blackwidownat2814 @zandra-42 @ysuftmikey @soupiemeowmeow @bookishbabyyyy @DreamingofTomorrow @1-800-peakyblinders @kissesofstars @qtmoonies @Casiopea2 @buckystwilight_ @buckystwilight @princess76179 @kaiparkerwife @vinecstasy @averyhotchner @angelicp0etry @multifandom-loser @ladamari68 @httpstoyosi @jakesphere @alina02 @kaorisakamotofan @randomfangirlof @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @animegamerfox @thychuvaluswife @clarkclit @tayhobart @obsessedwthdilfs @kneelarhmstrung @helalokithor @loveelylani @kissmxcheek @toplinehyunjin @jvanilly @angelbunny222 @sheslikecherrypie @drewswife @artsymaddie @laniec03 @chaoticevilbakugo @spencellelvrr

[koreluvsspring]

#stopmakingclarkcuss

[koreluvsspring]

EXTRA TERRESTRIAL

You get to see Clark for the E.T he is.

cw: 18+, smut, villain!reader, enemies to lovers, angst, mentions of blood/explosion/injuries & violence, switch!clark, p-in-v, mention of red kryptonite!clark kent, romantic tension, super-fucking tbh, some…foot kink content

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

You hadn't left the house in days.

Correction, Clark hadn't let you leave his apartment for days. Whatever weird hold he had incapacitating him faded away somewhere between the twenty-four & forty-eight hour mark. His clarity had returned for sure — but the silence afterwards, and the fact that he hadn't made any advances on you since he'd brought you here was off-putting, to say the least.

It'd left you tip-toeing around his space like it was a cage. Careful & cautious, always watching him in the corner of your eyes. Because for the first time, you were wary of his scent. An imposter of sorts.

"Oh for the love of — just ask me."

You twitch in place after he snaps you out of your focus — slowly turning to look up from where he leaned against the door frames, with his arms folded. The screen lowers with your nudge, and you clear your throat. "Why should I have to ask? You're the one who's been acting all…stoned."

"No," he interrupts, holding his palm out flat with a strained exhale. He crosses over to you in a few long strides, and the mattress dips significantly under his weight.

"Not stoned." The defensiveness in his tone is evident. He reaches over to his bedside table, rolling a silver ring in his palms. The faint red glow of the gem catches your sight, and your eyes narrow. The memory of it — the memory of him burned in your mind, still-too-fresh.

Kryptonite. This…kryptonite ring. Is why I was acting a little off."

"A little?" You repeated, a mocking tinge to your words. "You turned into freakin' Batman." He lets you pick up the ring in his palms and the glow fades away in your hold.

"How would you even know how he acts?"

"He's my ex."

"What?"

"Wait, isn't kryptonite the stuff that kills you?"

Clark frowns at your evasion of the topic. Though it settles in him, a green-eyed-monster he'd have to deal with later. "The stuff that…'kills me' is regular meteor rock." He mutters, waving the implication away, "that isn't any around anymore. This…red one, I suppose does something different."

"Different how?"

Clark hesitates, jaw flexing as he slips the ring back on. The effect is immediate. The same wash of red in his eyes. And it all came flooding back — the way he was possessive, refusing to let you leave his side, how his hands left imprints on every square inch of exposed skin on you. A version of him that was an acute reminder that he wasn't human.

"Like make you act like a clinically insane freak."

"Yeah," he exhales slow, his palm pressed flat down on his bed, next to your thighs, flicking the ring off his finger absentmindedly. "I guess so."

"Just — I'm sorry. For treating you like that. It wasn't me and —"

You raise both your hands, shooting him a confused look. "And I don't really care. I'm not your girlfriend. We fuck. That's it. I don't need you to give me your sob-stories or apologies."

Clark's eyes twitches, as if he's trying to swallow your words. Something flickers in his expression. Hurt, anger, probably. "It's precisely that. We've been intimate. And I don't know what sorts of losers you've been with but it's a decent thing to apologise for hurting someone."

"Oh you're actually deluded." You laugh, sliding off the bed. "Or did you conveniently forget? Even without this —" the ring clatters to the ground with a metallic clank. "It's all still there in you. You liked it. Don't pretend like it was some….alien parasite that made you do it. That was you. All you."

His voice trails behind you, low and demanding, when you try to walk away from him. "Hera."

"I told you not to call me that. I'm not her anymore."

You were gone by the time Clark head back out. And this time, he hadn't gone looking for you.

He stews with your words for the next few weeks.

The worst part was that he didn't hate it. Not entirely, at least. That recklessness, the raw and selfish thoughts in his mind under that red glow — it'd been an intoxicating feeling. It was the first time he didn't have to care, the possibility of a world that bent for him.

You found him when he was towered over a bunch of crooks, who lay broken and groaning. The asphalt around them painted in oil and dried blood.

"This is your hail mary, huh?"

Clark whips his head back, discreetly twisting the ring off his fingers. He looks at where you were perched above him on a ledge, heeled boots swinging back and forth with a frustrating playfulness.

The ground beneath crackles when you land, swaying a little as you approach him, not bothering to hide the case files in his hands, no doubt a result of his heroics. Your gaze falters at the well-recognised insignia of a syndicate on them. You're stepping closer to him, grabbing air when he pulls away from what you tried to snatch.

"Wait — that. That isn't something you want to mess around with," you warn, nudging your head to the files in his hands.

"I think I can handle it just fine," he tries. You scoff in amusement when you see the same red wash in his eyes. "Oh my god! You're freakin' doping."

Clark shoots you a look, tucking the file under his arms. "What the heck does that even mean? Not that I need to explain. I just put it on when I want to…feel less guilty. That's all."

You trail behind him, like a petulant child circling for attention while he's stomping off. "Why feel guilty? Cuz you're using excessive force now and you're liking it?"

He stops walking, sizing you with a glare that could wither. "Enough. I know you think this is funny, but I'm done playing this game with you."

You let him get a few steps in before you finally say, "this isn't you."

He looks at you over his shoulder, jaw tensing with his unsaid words. His gaze flicks up to the gadget that slaps suddenly onto the wall, blinking red. His eyes widen.

An explosion tears through the rubble before either of you get to say another word. Shrapnel and concrete bursting into the air. You're coughing as you rise up from the other side, waving off the clouds of smoke. You peek over at the fires that tore through the communal buildings, the noise of a bike that pulls in, all with the same gold intricate shape has you groaning. "Oh supershit..."

You step backwards, raising your palms up at the brightness of headlights that were blinding you. Great. You were about to get flak for something you weren't responsible for. By far, with the most annoying counterpart that hops off the bike. "Look, I didn't —"

The figure charges at you without mercy, pain electrifies your sides from where he strikes you. You're stumbling backwards, tasting iron in your mouth before you return the punches, but it's no use. He's flinging you across the rubble, and you land in concrete with a choked grunt.

From the cloud of smoke, Clark rises above, levitating over where you were curled. The mutant slams past you to get to him in seconds. You grunt, getting up to watch Clark tumble back with the weight of the black mass.

You'd considered — well, just walking away. It wasn't your problem. Your head tips back in a prolonged whine before you decide to sprint towards them, surging ahead to twist around the mutant. Clark on the other hand, doesn't get the memo. He sees a blur of black, and grabs you, flinging you aside.

"Are you kidding me?" You yelled out, perking up. Clark's squinting at you, sheepish. "I'm sorry! You're both wearing — ugh." The monster's already at his throat, dangerously close to stabbing his heart, you dust yourself off to spin and land a kick at its abdomen.

Clark and you settle into a rhythm — you'd strike, and he'd follow up. Sparks of fires grew wilder around, he signalled at you to duck before swinging a piece of the roof to incapacitate it.

You dart forward, shouldering through the debris as Clark keeps the mutant off balance with precise strikes. It lunges at him, and you dive in front, taking the hit while you kick its legs out. Clark, in a blur, arm-sweeps what he thinks is the enemy.

Only, it's you, again.

"CLARK," he's looking to you, eyes fluttering shut with a groan. He actually tosses you aside intentionally this time around and you land hard, absorbing the impact. "You — stay put."

He shakes his head before turning to the actual target. The atoms around Clark hums in a low, churning energy. His pupils dilate entirely before he's levitating, higher, sizing the mutant with a look that you hadn't seen from him normally. Clark's body blurs in blue and red, muscles tensing as he slams it down into the crackling concrete.

You're shielding your face when Clark grabs the base of the half destroyed building to throw it at its direction. A plume of smoke and quiet rips of raw material has him turning to you, composed.

"Are you alright?" He's tugging you up with a firm pull, and you stumble into him. Panting. You're pulling away from his touch instinctively, wary at first.

Clark's eyes are narrowed, head tipped when he realises, "you're…afraid."

You twitch, lips parting.

With a few steps, his arm is hooking around your waist, bringing you up to the rooftop of a nearby building. Clark's setting you down to the ground, dropping to his knees before you, arms falling limp in his lap.

You're not sure what he's playing at, but your attention is on the kryptonite ring that rolls between the two of you. Clark laser-beams at it without warning, and you shriek, hopping back.

"Bitch! What the fuck are you doing?" He's looking at the smouldering crater in the concrete, the red stone in the middle burning in its wake.

"…You were right. It isn't me. And the way you looked at me — I-I don't want that."

You're looking at him with a look that could only be described as disbelief. "Okay…? Mother Superior?? Who's keeping a ledger?"

Clark's head tilts up to look at you, lips twitching with barely restrained guilt.

"Oh—come on." You groan, his fists tighten on his lap, and you're cringing at how your heart actually twists at how he's looking at you. "Quit doing that. It's not on powered freaks like us to police stupid-human emotions. You of all people should know that." You fold your arms to turn away to walk off to the ledge. Your right foot steps over off the concrete. But you stop at his voice.

"Human emotions aren't stupid." He counters, slowly rising to walk after you. "I don't know what exactly happened to you to make you like this, but I didn't enjoy what I felt."

"Congratulations, Clark Kent, on retaining your humanity. That just isn't me."

You shut your eyes to step off the building, a rush of wind taking you. Clark swoops in from the side to hook his arm around your hips. Your breath hitches when he spins the two of you up, holding you firm against him.

"You…are a really bad liar." He meets your gaze, half-lidded, leaning in at the same time you did. Your arms curl around his neck, exhaling slow into his lips. Clark's fingers twines itself through your hair, nudging your head to the side to deepen it.

You're pulling away from the kiss, gaze flicking from his lips and back to his eyes.

"Take me home."

He's walking you backwards the second he puts you through his bed room window.

Lips locking with yours, messy and uncoordinated while cradling your jaw. You're pulling down the zip of your top down to your abdomen, and Clark tugs it off your shoulders in a fluid movement. Kissing the bare skin of your pulse, down to your collarbone.

But then he sees, the very fresh bruises from earlier, and winces, thumb skirting over the angry purple and yellow marks.

"I put…your life at unnecessary risk." He mutters, leaning down to nose at your cheeks.

"You know you've hurt me far worse."

"I'm not talking about the times where we've playfully fought."

"I've quite literally had my ribs cracked and been concussed —"

Clark repeats your name. Slow. Holding your jaw up for him. "Don't ever, let me get away with treating you like that."

He doesn't wait for your response, lifting you up and placing you on his bed. You're watching him with bated breath as he tugs his suit off, breathing slow. Taking in the sight of you on his bed like that.

Clark knees the mattress, kissing you again, scooting you backwards with a gentle hold around your hips. Helping you to tug off your bottoms. He hikes you over his thighs, effectively spreading your thighs wide apart.

You meet his eyeline, hand rested on his shoulder. Nodding imperceptibly to his earlier statement.

Clark huffs out an easy smile, kissing you like a breath let go. The warmth of his palm drags down your body, curving in between the fat of your thighs.

He cups your pussy, driving his palm flush around your clit, rounding, rubbing until your hips jump. You whimper into his lips. Lifting to his touches.

"Needy," he chides softly, his voice ghosting your jaw.

Your head tips back, toes curling into the sheets as he rubs two fingers beneath the gusset of your underwear. Thumb sliding above to tease the softness. He nudges himself into you, stretching you out nice and good until you were aching, pulsing around his fingers.

Clark takes the opportunity to leave gentle pecks at the column of your throat. His digits driving deeper and relentless into your hot, velvety walls.

"Made for me…" His voice traces up your shoulder, breath warm on your jaw. "Just…for me."

Your thighs drag up his sides, shivering at the sensation of the muscles. Clark's lips curl up in amusement at the tremors his body incites in you. He holds your wrist, laying it flat on his chest. Dragging your hand down the ridges of his abdomen.

"..Sh..shit.." A soft gasp leaves you, fingertips grazing the coarse hairs, slipping it underneath his boxers.

Clark's head hangs low when your softer hands rub the length of his cock. His fingers pull away from your cunt, rested on your thighs while he takes a strained breath.

You're locking your gaze with his while you pump him. Clark re-adjusts, the sheets rustling beneath when he pins you flat onto the mattress. Your breasts recoil at the sudden impact, and Clark dives in face first into the softness. His fingers loop around the middle, snapping the fabric apart with ease.

You gasp, shoulders tensing at the sudden gust of cold air. "Can you…just do things normally for once?" Clark glances up at you, far too gone to acknowledge your words. His tongue darts out to flick around your nipples. Coaxing the shy buds out. He sucks around the fat, humming low onto your skin.

"Mmh—…" Your hand curls at the back of his head, tugging him harder down. His other hand angles his cock flush onto your cunt. Collecting the slick along his length. Clark pushes your thighs up, resting them on his shoulder blades.

His cock head teases at your entrance before he pushes in half way. You're both panting into each others mouths, groaning at the same time when he's inching deeper and deeper into you. "M-Motherfuck. I..forgot— how—..mhh—! S-Stupid big…y'are…" Clark huffs out a laugh, resting his sweat-slick cheeks onto yours, "I'm not even..half-way in."

You whine out loudly, nuzzling your face into the sheets. Thighs quivering until he finally buries himself entirely into you. He grunts, moving in a slow pace to get you used to the stretch. You grab around his thighs, clawing deep into the muscle when he picks up the pace.

Clark fucks his cock into you in an increasing intensity, fast, and hard. The bed creaks beneath its weight, his hand slams into the bed frame, the wood splintering in his hold. "G—Gosh, you're…squeezing me…so..g'damned…" He tips his head, mouthing at the arch of your feet while slurring on his words. It's ticklish, but the sting of his cock plundering into your cunt has you leaning into the sensation.

He licks a stripe up to your toes, panting heavily. Clark doesn't need to ask if you've cum, because he's feeling you pulse around his cock. It damn near takes him with it, but he bites back, savouring the tightness of your warm cunt. "I-I can't…"

You're blinking dazed, he grabs your wrists, pulling your arms around his neck. Within seconds — he has you flush against the wall. The force of it sends picture frames clattering off its hinges. Clark slams his hand onto the surface, nails digging into the flimsy drywall. Your thigh hooks around him, futile. Whining into his ears as he fucks you at a feral pace. You're blubbering incoherently, toes curled at the way he'd picked you up like that with ease.

The prick of tears fall from your eyes, but his tongue catches the saltiness, halfway down your cheeks. "C—Clark." You manage, mouthing helplessly into his neck. His hand plants around the back of your head to protect it from bumping repeatedly at the surface. It's getting to him, all too quickly, how your pussy spasmed around him, and how you were softly begging for him.

Clark's eyes roll back, gritting his teeth when the all-familiar throb in his head returns ten-fold.

"I'm gonna — cum, fuck."

Profanities that feel so wrong sputters out as his cum bubbles deep into you with heavy slaps, his balls tightening as he empties his load into you. Your pussy pulses around him, coaxing his cum deep. He pants, hips tensing with effort. The walls beside you begin to sizzle slow, and you snap straight. Despite his best efforts, the low-after-beams from his eyes leave a suspiciously close line next to your face.

You gasp when you smell something burned. Blindly grabbing at the half burnt pieces of your hair.

"….What the —"

[koreluvsspring]

WELCOME TO WAYNE MANOR ( batmom! )

summary | After a round of Gotham City, Bruce finds a lonely boy, and his paternal instincts are triggered by the impending birth of his little girl.

pairing | Bruce Wayne x Wife!reade; platonic! Dick grayson x batmom; platonic! Jason todd x batmom

note | Many thanks to the anon who gave me the idea, idk what I did with the request, i can't find it :(( . Also, I have two more stories prepared: one about how Batmom and Bruce meet, and Clark's interview.

hot wife serie

For weeks, Bruce's mind had been occupied by a single thought: protecting his wife and the unborn child. There were only a few weeks left until his life would undergo a major change, one in which he couldn't afford to make mistakes, and one that would further fuel his desire to improve the city. His instincts, which had always made him wary, were now on full blast.

Each night's patrol felt different. Gotham seemed even more dangerous, every corner hiding a potential threat, every shadow a possible enemy. But what worried him most wasn't the crime, but the possibility that something, anything, could reach the woman sleeping peacefully in their bed, her hands on the belly where his daughter was growing.

That night, when he turned into a dark, damp alley to finally head home, the last thing he expected to find near his Batmobile was a child.

He didn't expect to find anything special in that alley until he heard the metallic screech of a tool against the Batmobile. He moved forward silently, like a predator, until he saw the absurd scene.

A skinny boy, his knobby knees peeking out from under his oversized pants, was kneeling in front of one of the wheels. His small, scraped hands were struggling to loosen a nut with an old wrench.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Bruce's voice rumbled deep and low, and the boy jumped as if he'd seen a monster.

Bruce watched him for a few seconds. He didn't see a thief. He saw a child, one with marked bones, hunger in his eyes and wounds that no one had healed. A child with no opportunities and full of needs that no one was there to properly meet.

The boy, seeing this, tried to play dumb, slipping the wrench behind his back as if the gesture could fool the most observant man in Gotham. His lips twisted in a grimace meant to be cheeky, but it barely concealed the trembling in his hands.

"Me? I wasn't doing anything," he muttered, in the hoarse voice of someone who has shouted too much in the street.

Bruce raised an eyebrow beneath his mask. He took another step forward, and the boy backed away, shrinking against the wheel.

"That 'nothing' was going to mention broken bones. You're not as quiet as you think," he replied calmly. His tone wasn't threatening, but firm, like that of a father reprimanding a son.

Jason clenched his jaw. His pride wouldn't let him give in, even though the fear was evident in his eyes. "So what if I did?" he snapped, a spark of fury barely able to hide the trembling. "No one's going to feed me, you know? I don't care about your fancy car."

Bruce watched him silently. The dirt embedded in his skin, his scraped knuckles, and that old T-shirt that was so loose, either because of its large size or his light weight. He was just a kid, a kid driven by poverty to steal. A cruel reflection of what Gotham did to the vulnerable.

The murmur of rain on the pavement filled the silence. Jason clutched the key tightly behind his back, as if it were his only shield.

"You don't have to keep going like this," Bruce finally said, his deep voice dropping a pitch, almost to a whisper.

The boy frowned, suspicious. "I do," he replied, tersely, defiantly. "No one else is going to do it for me."

Bruce crouched down to his level. His cape brushed the wet ground. His blue eyes met the boy's green ones, and in that instant, Jason saw not Batman, the monster of the streets, but a man. "What's your name?"

The boy hesitated. The answer burned in his throat, as if saying it would make him more vulnerable. Finally, he murmured, “Jason.”

Bruce nodded slowly, and in that silent gesture he made a decision: he wouldn't leave him there. He wouldn't hand him over to the police, he wouldn't abandon him like Gotham had done so many times before.

Jason clenched his jaw, as if simply sharing her name had taken away some of his darkness, and pulled his dirty, worn hood back over his head, averting his gaze. "You told me what you wanted, now what? Are you going to give me up?" he said, his tone heavy with bitter irony.

Bruce watched him silently for a few seconds. There was something inside him, his instinct telling him not to rush. With street kids, every word could be a dagger or a shield. He had to think carefully about his words before saying them. "No, Jason. I'm not going to give you up."

The boy looked at him in disbelief, his lips parted. "So what? You're just going to leave me here?"

Bruce shook his head slowly. "No, I want to give you a chance. I can take you to a place where you don't have to steal to survive. Where you have a bed, food, security."

Jason gave a dry, mirthless laugh. "Why would you do that? Nobody gives anything away for free in this town. There's always a price."

Bruce held her gaze. “The price is simple, trust me.”

Jason shook his head, almost furious. "There's no such thing as that, man. Trust is what gets you killed on the street."

Bruce leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice to an almost intimate tone, still firm. "I know what it's like to have no one. I also know what it's like to live in fear of the next night, of the next person who wants to take advantage. I'm not going to force you—I can't, Jason—but I do want to give you an option Gotham never gave you: a home."

The boy swallowed uncomfortably. His nervous fingers fiddled with the screwdriver he still had in his pocket. "What if I say no?"

"Then I'll leave," Bruce replied without hesitation. "And you'll come back to this corner, to this life. But I don't want that for you. You have something special, Jason. You have guts, you're strong, you can be better than this if you have the chance, it's your choice."

The silence weighed between them. Jason looked down, unable to hold it. His torn shoes were soaked by a puddle he hadn't noticed. He saw his reflection in the water: a skinny, dirty boy with tired eyes. And when he looked back at the man in front of him, he didn't see a caped monster, but someone offering him something he'd never heard from anyone before.

“A… bed?” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"A bed, a hot meal, clean clothes," Bruce listed firmly, as if painting a picture. "And a place where you're more than just a street kid."

Jason pressed his lips together. His instinct screamed not to trust him, that there was always a trap, but there was something in those blue eyes, in that deep voice, that slowly disarmed him. Why would the great Batman do anything wrong if he spent all his nights watching over the city? Finally, he took a small, uncertain step toward him. Jason took a deep breath and, with a jerky movement, as if afraid of regretting it at any moment, nodded.

Bruce extended his hand. Jason hesitated, eyeing it as if it were a trap, but finally, with trembling fingers, he took it.

Batman's cape opened, enveloping the boy from the cold of Gotham. For the first time in a long time, Jason didn't feel completely alone.

Wayne Manor had always seemed too big, even for those who lived there, so for Jason Todd, it was a whole new world. Every room felt like a museum, every object in his path a luxury he couldn't quite grasp. The high ceilings, the chandeliers that hung like inverted constellations, the walls covered in paintings and portraits of ancestors that stared back at him with stern stares. He walked slowly, but with his arms crossed and his back straight, like a stray cat ready to pounce at the slightest movement. He didn't belong there at all, and he knew it.

Jason carried with him that smell of asphalt, smoke, and the forced freedom of the street, something the mansion, so neat and quiet, seemed to repel with every step he took. He looked at everything with suspicion, as if afraid that if he touched anything, it might break or, worse, be reprimanded for doing so. His boots echoed on the marble floor, making his presence seem too loud for such a solemn place.

Jason moved cautiously through the hallway, feeling like every step was an invasion. The echo of his boots on the marble made him feel too present, too out of place. His gaze was alert, fixed on every corner, as if at any moment someone might come out and tell him to get lost.

Then a soft voice broke the silence. “So you’re Jason,” she said warmly, as if she’d known him forever.

He met a woman coming down the main stairs, despite it being the middle of the night, she looked radiant, she didn't look like the women he had seen in the alleys or in the shops, she was there with her hair loose and her belly rounded from the last weeks of pregnancy, she greeted him with a smile that Jason didn't know how to process.

"It's me... I guess," he murmured, his voice hoarse and distrust reflected in every muscle in his body.

She stepped down the last step and approached with firm steps. “Welcome, Jason,” she said sweetly, as if she really meant it.

Jason pressed his lips together, looking to the side, uncomfortable. He wasn't used to that kind of welcome. Before he could answer, another voice echoed from the side gallery. Deep, firm, unmistakable. "Is everything all right?"

It was Bruce. He'd been watching, giving him space, but now he was approaching with a confident stride. His presence filled the hallway like a protective shadow, and Jason felt it immediately.

"It's okay," she replied with a smile at her husband, then looked back at the boy. "He's just getting to know the house."

Jason rolled his eyes, muttering to himself, “Knowing the castle, you mean…”

Jason remained rooted to the marble, arms crossed, his gaze shifty. Her warmth made him uncomfortable, and Bruce's firm presence left him no room to escape. It was then that a new sound interrupted the scene: agile footsteps descending from the opposite wing of the mansion.

"Well, well," said a voice laden with irony. "Who's this?"

Jason looked up and saw him. A dark-haired boy, just a couple of years older than him, his right arm immobilized in a sling. He wore blue pajamas and slippers, moving with the ease of someone who knew every corner of the place perfectly. His bright blue eyes fixed on Jason with a spark that was hard to read, half curiosity, half discomfort.

"Jason, this is Dick," Bruce introduced calmly. " Our son."

Jason raised an eyebrow in surprise and snorted. “Sure… I thought so.”

Dick crossed his arms, unconsciously mimicking Jason's defensive stance. "So what are you doing here?" he asked, looking him up and down with a hint of barely disguised distrust.

"He'll be with us from now on" Bruce replied, with that authority that left no room for reply.

Dick pressed his lips together. He didn't argue, but his jaw tightened. His eyes returned to the skinny boy in front of him, with his worn clothes and street-scarred hands. Jason stared back fearlessly, as if accepting the challenge.

"So... I guess you're Bruce's new 'experiment,'" Dick said, trying to sound nonchalant, though every word was laced with veiled jealousy. His bandaged arm swung slightly, reminding him that he was restrained, but not about to give up any space on his territory.

"Richard, don't say that," Bruce's wife intervened, with the same sweetness she had shown from the beginning. "Everyone has their place here, Jason. You don't have to worry about competing with anyone."

Jason looked at them, surprised. He hadn't expected such warmth, such clarity. Still, as he walked carefully down the hallway, something inside him began to relax. Maybe, just maybe, he'd found a place where he could belong... though he still had to earn everyone's trust, including Dick.

The days passed quickly at the mansion for everyone, Dick and Jason's relationship had improved a little, it was anything but tense between them, Dick was going through a complicated phase with Bruce, after he broke his arm while patrolling with him as Robin, Bruce fired him from his position and since then the days at the mansion were marked by slight friction between father and son. Dick tried not to let his bad mood and frustration contaminate the atmosphere, aware that the only woman living there already carried enough weight with her pregnancy and with the care of a baby girl who would soon come into the world.

Jason, little by little, was beginning to adapt to the new routine, although always with caution and that distrust inherited from the street, still not fully assimilating that he now had a place to be, he had clothes and food, he didn't have to go out on the streets to steal to get even a little money, he was no longer cold at night. But deep down, he didn't want to get used to all this. This family was already formed, they had an adopted son, now they had a little girl, and what did he have to do there getting in the way?

Of course, this might have gone unnoticed by Bruce or Dick, but never by her. As he was arranging some books in the study, Jason felt a presence behind him. It was her, his wife, approaching with soft but steady steps.

"Are you okay, Jason?" she asked, with that warmth that seemed to penetrate every wall he put up.

Jason tensed slightly, turning to face her. “Yeah… I think so,” he replied, with a shrug that didn’t quite hide his uncertainty.

She smiled, tilting her head slightly. “You know… I’m setting up the baby’s room.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, surprised by the casualness with which she included him. "Oh... really? That's great." His voice sounded awkward, trying not to sound too interested.

"Yeah... and I was thinking of asking if you wanted to help me," she said, placing a small pillow on the crib's bed. Her smile was so genuine that Jason felt strangely comfortable. "You could hang these pictures or help me with the bookshelf. Bruce bought her a lot of things..."

Jason looked at her, and for a moment his usual wariness faltered. He nodded, and together they began working in the room. As she showed him how to hang a picture at the proper height, he listened, asking for details, awkwardly joking when he dropped something or when she gently corrected him.

For a moment, the anxiety that always accompanied him disappeared. But when she mentioned what it would be like to have a baby in the house, Jason felt a knot in his stomach.

"So... what will it be like when the baby arrives?" she asked, trying to sound casual, although her voice betrayed a hint of unease.

She looked at him with understanding, as if she'd read his thoughts. "It will be different, yes, but that doesn't mean anyone loves you any less, Jason. You have your place here, you always will."

Jason looked down, biting his lip. For a moment, he felt vulnerable, afraid that the love he was beginning to feel for the family would fade once the baby arrived.

As time passed, Jason began to notice his mistrust softening. Every small mistake, every shared laugh, every instruction on how to place a shelf or hang a picture made him feel like he belonged. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't just an outsider; he was someone who had a place, someone who could laugh and make mistakes without fear of judgment.

When they finally finished hanging the pictures and putting away the toys, she leaned back against the crib, looking up at him with a satisfied smile. "Look, Jason, the room's ready. And you helped make it perfect."

He crossed his arms, feigning modesty, but he couldn't help but smile. "I guess it wasn't so bad."

"No, it was great," she said, winking at him. "The baby is going to be happy to have an older brother like you. He's going to love you very much, I'm sure."

Jason felt an unexpected warmth in his chest. “Big brother…” he thought. The thought made him genuinely smile. For the first time, he realized he could belong to this family, that he could be part of something bigger than himself. And that feeling… was good, very good.

[koreluvsspring]

hi Hi! I was wondering if you could do something where reader is VERY pregnant, and Clark helps her quite a bit? I’ve seen a lot of tiktoks of husbands holding the baby bump up from behind to relieve some of the weight? I also saw one where a husband dug out a hole in the sand at the beach so his wife could nap on her belly, and I feel like that would be something Clark would do for his wife. I just love that David loves being a dad and I like to imagine he helped his wife a lot during pregnancy. Thanks!

ぺ  word count ⋰ 3.8k

✰  tw ⋰ pregnancy and birth

❍  cw ⋰ mentions of sex, abortion

✐  masterlist

When you found out you were pregnant, you were terrified. You and Clark had only been together for eleven months, and it went against what you'd always hoped for, which was to be married before having kids. You were very adamant about that, and Clark respected it. He was always careful, insistent that he wear a condom. You were even on birth control, for god's sake.

You remember seeing those two lines on the test, feeling your heart fall to your stomach when they showed up. You didn't move for what felt like hours, unable to take your eyes off of it.

And you took two more tests. You needed to confirm. And all three tests came back positive.

You and Clark hadn't seen each other in about eighteen days. His boss sent him to Vermont for three weeks to investigate a case he was writing about. And the two of you had sex the night before he left, sort of as a temporary goodbye.

The missed period wasn't enough to alert you. But you'd been dealing with constant nausea and a chronic headache. Picking up the test at the drugstore, you didn't actually expect it to be positive. But you needed to get the thought out of your head.

But it didn't work. This was the first time you'd actually thrown up even with the nausea, uncontrollable sobs ripping through your throat. You sat against the bathtub with your knees to your chest, elbows on your knees, and the heels of your palms rubbing into your eyes.

"Shit," you said to yourself as you folded your forearms over each other, resting your cheek against your wrist.

Three more days went by before Clark returned. Three days of dreading delivering the news. Three days of not being able to tell anyone. Three days of debilitating anxiety.

And it got to the point that you needed to talk to someone. Anyone.

So, the day before he returned, you paid a visit to The Daily Planet. You'd spent enough time with his friends that you knew them by name, and who was easier to talk to about. And your eyes landed on one person in particular.

Lois Lane.

You'd become somewhat close with her over your relationship with Clark. You were friends on social media, and when she found out that you were an English and grammar nerd, she commissioned you to proof-read her articles every once in a while.

So you knew you could possibly confide in her.

She looked up at you from her desk when you walked over, a warm smile spreading on her face.

"Hey, Y/N. What's up?"

"When's your lunch break?"

"Uh..." She checked her watch. "Five minutes. But I can take it now. Is something wrong?"

"Can we talk in private while you eat?"

So you two walked out to the balcony, which had a metal table with a couple of chairs. She sat on the back of the chair, her feet in the seat as she scooped yogurt into her mouth. You paced back and forth in front of her, beginning to annoy her the more you did it.

"Alright, you've got to spill. My eyes are hurting watching you."

"Ugh. Okay. So, you know how me and Clark have been together for almost a year?"

"Mhm. Wait, you're not thinking of breaking up with him, are you? Because he's gonna be heartbroken. That man is head over heels for you."

"No, no. Absolutely not."

"Okay, then what are you so nervous about?"

"Uh... I don't even know how to say it." Her eyebrows raised and her head jutted forward, waiting for you to finally say it. "I'm... pregnant."

Her jaw dropped ever so slightly and she straightened her back.

"Are you serious?"

"I missed my last period, and I've been super nauseous, and my head has been killing me. So, on a whim, I stopped at a drugstore on my way home from work. I got a test, and... it came back positive. So I took two more, and both of those also came back positive. And now I'm freaking out."

"I... don't know what to say. It's definitely not what I expected."

"Yeah. How do you think I feel? I made a rule. I said that I wasn't having kids before being married. Whether that was to him, or someone else. And we've been so responsible. I'm on the pill, he uses condoms-"

"TMI."

"The point is... I don't know how it happened."

"Well, are the condoms expired?" she asked as she took another spoonful of yogurt into her mouth.

"What?"

"Expired condoms break. Did you check the expiration date?"

And it hit you. The two boxes of condoms in your nightstand were probably about four years old now. You had them when you met Clark. And you'd been meaning to get more, but the boxes were full. You didn't even realize they could expire. Blame that on the American sex-ed system.

"Shit."

She clicked her tongue. "Well, there you go."

"Shit."

"Are you gonna keep it?"

Her inflection was completely devoid of judgment, just curiosity.

You crossed your arms. "I don't know. I want to. I mean, we've both said we can see ourselves getting married to each other. Not anytime soon or anything. Just... in the future. So I think it would work out. But at the same time, I'm just... scared. And I can't even talk to him about it because he's not here. And he won't be back for three more days."

"Well, I think I know Clark well enough at this point to assume what he would say."

"Which is?"

"I think he would be supportive no matter what you choose. He practically worships you. He's very... pro-women. And I know he wouldn't force you to do something like this if you didn't want to. So I don't necessarily think you should be as nervous about telling him as you are. He's a good guy."

You nodded. "Yeah. You're right."

"I know. Always am." She smiled. "If you need to talk anymore to someone who isn't Clark, I'll be here."

"Thank you. I really appreciate it."

Those three days went by slowly. You texted Clark like nothing was wrong, reading his messages updating you and being able to see him smiling as he typed them.

And the morning he left, you told him to meet you at your apartment. And that's where you waited. For what felt like days.

And you could hear his footsteps outside the front door, which made you stand up and walk to the hallway, crossing your arms. You watched the lock turn with his key, taking a deep breath as he entered.

He didn't look at you at first, closing the door before turning to you with a warm smile.

But this smile dropped almost immediately. His eyes stayed glued on your lower belly, his cheeks reddening.

"Y/N..."

"Clark."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"What?"

"I can see through you."

You looked down at your stomach. "Wait, can you actually?"

He slowly walked over. "Yeah. I can see... that. Why didn't you call me?"

You sighed. "I wanted to tell you in person."

"When did you find out?"

"Three days ago. I've been having, like, constant nausea and headaches, and I missed my period. I took three tests. To make sure."

He walked past you and sat on the couch, hiding his face in his hands. You sat in front of him on the coffee table, a thick silence between the two of you.

"We were so careful," he said, muffled. "How did this happen?"

"Turns out the condoms we were using were expired. We're lucky this didn't happen sooner."

"How expired?"

"A year," you said, the pitch of your voice going up.

He moved his hands so he could look at you. "A year?!" You simply nodded.

"I'm scared, Clark. We both know I didn't want to even think about this until after we got married, if we did. I mean, we've been together for less than a year. We can't afford this. And my parents-"

"Hey, hey." He wrapped his hands around yours. "You're gonna overwhelm yourself."

"I've been overwhelmed for three days. I've barely slept, I can't focus at work, I've just been isolating myself here. Panicking."

"You should have asked me to come home early. Perry would've understood."

You shook your head. "I didn't want to risk you getting in trouble."

He sighed. "Okay. So you're pregnant. It's okay. It's not the end of the world. We both want to be parents one day, you've been looking for an excuse to take time off from work, we have money saved up."

"Clark, this isn't an excuse to take time off from work. This is a permanent thing. Especially for the next eighteen years, if not more."

"I know, I know. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just saying... I'll support you no matter what you choose. If you don't want to go through with it, you don't have to. We can do this again at another time. But I hope you know that if you do want to keep it, I'll be here for you. I mean, we're basically one step away from being married and living together. I think we'll be fine if we decide to do this."

"God, you're so optimistic. About everything."

"I have to be. For this especially. I just want you to know that I'll be here the whole time. And if you do give birth, I'll be right beside you in the delivery room."

You nodded. "I'll have to just... think about it. I was thinking about taking tomorrow off just so I can think without any distractions."

"That's a good idea. I want you to be absolutely sure about it. Okay? Promise me that whatever decision you make, it's because you made it. That's all that matters."

You felt tears welling up in your eyes. "I don't deserve you."

"Neither do I."

He leaned in and kissed you, making a bit of your anxiety melt away.

You didn't get out of bed the next day. You just laid there, staring at the ceiling and comparing your future if you decide to go through with the pregnancy and if you didn't.

And you came up with an official list. You even wrote it down.

KEEP THE BABY: in your 30s. running out of time. you and clark love each other. many people have children outside of marriage. super curious what clark would be like as a dad.

Versus:

END THE PREGNANCY AND DO IT A FEW YEARS FROM NOW: no money. tiny apartments. super underprepared. giving birth is terrifying. been together less than a year!!!!!

Both lists had very valid points. But something was making your gut ache. You loved Clark. And he loved you. It felt like you'd been together for forever, like you knew each other better than anyone else.

And you couldn't help but long for what your future would look like if you went through with it.

You thought you had your mind made up about having kids. You knew you wanted to get married someday, but you'd gone back and forth for years about the idea of kids.

In your teenage years and your twenties, you were staunchly against having a kid. It was too much responsibility, too much to handle. But when you hit twenty-seven, you, for whatever reason, changed your mind.

And when you started dating Clark, you knew that you officially flip-flopped. You could see yourself having a kid or two with him. And the idea of him being a girl dad? It made you swoon.

So you made the decision. You wanted this kid.

And when he came over after work, you sat him down. Just like the night before, he was on the couch in front of you and you were on the coffee table.

"Alright. I need you to promise me something."

"I'm all ears."

"If- if - we do this. I need you to promise me that you won't leave. I need that reassurance. I won't raise a kid alone."

"That's it? That's your only condition?" You nodded. "You might as well ask me to keep breathing." This coaxed a smile out of you. "I love you. More than anything. And, if I'm being honest, I've thought about what our kid would look like. What she'd be like-"

"She?"

He realized what he'd said. "Yeah. She. That's what I'm hoping for."

"Really?" you said, a bit surprised.

"Yeah. I'd love to have a daughter. Especially with you."

You crawled forward into his lap, kissing him deeply. His hands landed where they always did - on your lower back, right on top of the dimples in your skin.

The more time went by, the more excited you got about the baby. Telling your parents was met with a bit of... disappointment. Your family was more conservative than Clark's, so the idea of you having a baby with someone you were with for less than a year was not something they were completely on board with.

But they liked Clark. They really liked Clark. And your mom really wanted to be a grandmother. So they came around, even though they wished you'd been together longer.

Clark's parents on the other hand? Both of them cried when you told them. They knew how much their son loved you, and they adored you. So, even with the unconventional situation, they were thrilled. And they offered you whatever help you needed.

The pregnancy wasn't easy. The more you showed, the more uncomfortable you got. You'd heard that pregnancy was wonderful, that it was a gift.

So when you just got more and more uncomfortable, you thought something was wrong with you. And Clark could tell. He called your gynecologist's office on his lunch break when you hit six months, getting information to deliver to you.

And, as frustrating of an answer it was, when you got your hormones tested, it turns out they were just out of whack. They made your muscles hurt, and the stretching of your ligaments only made your belly sore.

So you took pregnancy safe pain medication, which helped a bit.

But not completely.

So every night before bed, Clark would lay you on your back and gently massage your bump as directed by your doctor, and even though it didn't make you feel completely better, it was a nice reassurance of how much he cared.

One perk of him having x-ray vision was not needing an ultrasound to figure out the gender. One morning, you were getting dressed for work.

"Y/N?" he asked, sitting up where he was laying.

"Yeah, Clark?"

"It's a girl."

You whipped your head around to look at him.

"What?"

"I can see. It's a girl."

Just like when he found out you were pregnant, you climbed into his lap to kiss him. "I didn't know you could see that."

"I didn't think I'd be able to unless it was a boy."

"We're gonna have a daughter, Clark."

"Yeah. A daughter." His smile was so wide it looked like his mouth would rip open.

That afternoon on your day off, you brought him a file he'd forgotten at home, and he decided to take the opportunity to announce to his friends that you'd figured out the gender. And they were all thrilled. Lois especially. She pulled you into a hug, talking about how she remembered you telling her the news.

One day, when you hit eight months, you were scrolling on your phone and stumbled across a TikTok. It was of a husband standing behind his wife, lifting her belly for a moment to take the weight and stress off of her.

You sent it to Clark, forgetting about it a few hours later. He reacted with a heart emoji, and the idea stuck in his head.

You were at the point where he was taking showers with you because they exhausted you, and he just wanted to help you as much as he could.

One night in particular, he noticed you were struggling a bit more to stand. Your back and hips were killing you, putting strain on your shoulders and neck.

You leaned back into him when he leaned over to kiss your cheek, and he remembered the video.

His hands slid down your belly, cupping underneath your bump and gently pulling it upward.

You let out an involuntary moan, but not a sexually charged one. It was a relief. You felt an immediate difference, and you tipped your head back to lean it against his shoulder.

"Oh my god, Clark. That feels so good."

"Does it? Good." He kissed your cheek again. "I would do this all day for you if I could."

"Mm. Just call into work and do this all day." He laughed. "I could fall asleep like this. Somehow I feel less tired with you holding that weight. And I know it's nothing to you. Like a feather."

"You would be right."

And that became a somewhat regular thing. You'd be making a snack, he'd come up behind you and lift your belly. You'd be brushing your teeth, he'd come up behind you and life your belly. Anything you had to do on your feet, he'd take the opportunity to relieve you of that discomfort. He loved hearing the satisfied sigh come out of your mouth. He loved knowing he was helping you, that he made you feel better for a little while.

Two weeks before your due date, he arranged for the two of you to take a day trip to Rehoboth Beach in eastern Delaware, on the coolest day of the month. Granted, it wasn't the most luxurious beach, but it was the only one you two had been to together. It was sentimental.

He'd insisted on taking your stuff to the beach first and setting it up, claiming that he had a surprise for you. So you sat in the car, the air conditioner blasting on your face.

And when you saw him come back, he had a smile plastered on his face. He opened your door for you and you took the keys out of the ignition from the passenger seat. Your wrapped your arm around his and he helped you waddle down the sidewalk.

When you got close enough that you could almost see your stuff, he put his hands over your eyes, continuing to guide you.

"Is this really necessary?" you giggled.

"Gotta make sure you're not peeking. You're gonna love this." When you got to your stuff, he stopped you in your tracks. "Ready?"

"Mhm."

He pulled his hands away to reveal a hole in the sand. And it was perfectly baby-bump size.

"What is this?"

"So you can lay on your stomach."

Your jaw dropped and eyes widened, looking up at him. "Seriously?"

"You like it?"

"It's perfect." You exchanged a kiss before he helped you get to your knees and then lay down, a groan leaving your lips when you got settled. "God, I missed this so much. Worst part of being pregnant."

"I knew you'd love it."

He rubbed your back with one hand while he sat to your left, eventually hearing you snore. He let you sleep for about three hours before he woke you as the air cooled.

"Let's get home and get that sand off you, yeah?" he whispered as you groggily opened your eyes. "I wanna cook you dinner tonight."

One hack you'd found out when your bump got big was that you could just use it as a table. So you laid slumped on the couch with your feet on the coffee table, your bowl of fettuccini balanced on top of your belly.

And he laughed every time he saw you do it. But not a judgmental laugh, one that told you he was genuinely amused at your innovation. It only made him love you more.

And he meant it when he said he would be there, right by your side, as you gave birth. You squeezed his hand with such force that, even though he had superhuman strength and stamina, it hurt him. He winced. You'd never seen him do that, even when he stubbed his toe or dropped a jar on his foot. And it was a nice distraction from your pain.

He had to hype you up when you first went into labor, doubting your ability to push a baby out of you. He had to grab you by the face, force you to look in his eyes, and told you how strong you were. He told you how much he loved you, how incredible of a mother you'd be. And that was exactly what you needed to keep pushing.

It was much quicker than the nurses expected, requiring many less pushes than they said it would.

Watching Clark's face as he laid eyes on his daughter for the first time, tears welling up in his eyes, made you cry. It was like he couldn't believe the two of you had made a person together. Like he was dreaming.

The nurses had him cut the umbilical cord, and he got so excited he could hardly stand it. He wanted nothing more than to hold his baby in his arms, which he did soon after he cut the cord.

He was sobbing at that point. He couldn't contain himself. He'd crawled into the hospital bed with you, half his body hanging off to make sure you had room.

He reached down to grab your hand and press a kiss to it before you reached up and wiped his tears.

"You're such a baby," you said softly, also crying.

"I can't help it."

Right before you fell asleep, he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and held you close, baby in the other arm. He watched tv as you snored, feeling nothing but love.

He was so goddamn happy. He had the love of his life and his daughter, and he needed nothing else right now.

His friends from The Daily Planet arrived first, as your and his parents had to drive from out of state to be there.

Lois, despite not loving kids, gushed over her. Jimmy had no idea how to act around babies, terrified of her getting hurt. And Perry, his boss, smiled more than anyone else had ever seen him smile.

And every concern your parents had about having kids so early just disappeared the second they laid their eyes on you. Clark's parents were the ones to cry, though. They just couldn't take it. Their baby boy had a baby of his own.

And by the time you'd arrived home, Clark had already set up the makeshift nursery in the corner of your bedroom, the crib built steady, diapers and wipes next to the changing table, and formula in the fridge.

And, despite the initial hesitation to keep the baby, you couldn't be happier watching Clark carry her around the house. She looked so tiny compared to him. He was terrified he was going to hurt her, often unable to estimate his own strength.

But he was a gentle giant. He was extra careful, extra caring.

And you fell in love with him all over again.

[koreluvsspring]

based on this post lol

oral sex and... weird alien anatomy

"...clark, what is that." your face froze in shock.

how could you have forgotten that your clark kent was none other than... an extra terrestrial? a kryptonian, at that.

in your defense, his appearance doesn't really scream alien aside maybe from his height, so the information just slipped out of your mind.

it was when you were met face to face with his cock, that you remembered his true nature.

"w-what do you mean? it's.. it's my..." he looked away from your kneeling form, embarrassed at the thought of saying such a word. "I know what that is, I'm asking you what this," and your finger rubbed against the... buds? soft hooks? that were on the side of his dick which made his silently shudder "...is". "is that not a normal thing...? you know, to grab onto you..?" he questioned innocently.

there's a silence for a moment, "clark, I love you, but there's no way in hell you thought every human had... these." you deadpanned before he started squirming, his thighs clenching. "you're making me self conscious..." "don't be! it's just... my first time with an alien, I guess."

he took a deep breath, "you know, if you don't want to do this, I could still just–- oooh, gosh..." he cut himself off with a low moan that rumbled from deep within his chest right when you licked up the buds. "feels nice?" your eyes flickered up at him as he nodded intensely, mouthing a small 'keep going'.

you smiled warmly at him before licking your lips and kissing his bulbous tip, sinking down on him as your jaw struggled to accommodate to his size. his hips jerked when the soft hooks brushed against your cheeks. "shhi– shoot..." he caught himself, his hand sneaking into your hair.

clark caressed your scalp softly as you got down to halfway of his cock, telling you to "breath," and "r-relax f'me, baby..." as if he were any more relaxed than you.

when you paused to breath through your nose, he peeled his eyes open and met your intense gaze, looking up at him with the cutest doe eyes he had ever seen. wet lashes batting up at him in sync with the sounds of your gargling.

the buds didn't feel uncomfortable in your mouth—they were soft and squishy—but it still distinctively different. yet, the thought of sucking extra terrestrial dick did make you squirm a bit.

after a few moments of the both of you catching your breaths, you finally decided to move.

he crumbled.

you were barely a few bobs in before he turned into a whimpering mess, calling out your name desperately as his back ached involuntarily. "oh my– i-it feels so- you're p-perfect, so goddamn perfect..."

the praises go straight to your core, fueling you to go even faster. you pulled up quickly, circling his tip with your tongue and sucking on it harder—which made him whisper out a small "f-fuck.." that you did not miss at all—before moving the side to suck on each bud.

you felt them harden slightly, but you didn't pay much mind to it. you pulled away, opting to stroke him for a moment. "am I doing good, so far?" you knew you were doing amazing, but you questioned him anyway because you loved a good stroke on your ego.

"s-so amazing, pretty." he slurred, his eyes slowly going for the ceiling as he was completely letting go of himself, losing his every thought at each pump of your hand.

your other hand went for his heavy balls, playing with them softly and smiling when you see him completely throwing his head back.

when you put your mouth back on him, he couldn't hold back.

and he tried.

he really did.

but when he felt your pretty lips stretch around his girth to take him, when he felt you warm sticky throat parting to welcoming him again, and when he felt the inside of your cheeks brushing against his buds? he just couldn't hold it in.

suddenly, the 'soft hooks'—as you would describe them—hardened and hooked on the inside of your cheeks, halting any and every movement. his hand that was still in your hair tightened quickly, gripping your scalp as he spilled his seed into your throat, gasping out your name.

"holy– oh my- you're so fuckin'... why are you so fucking p-p-perfect, holy shit..!" he could barely hold in his profanities, the sound of you swallowing his cum too much for him to bear.

when he finished, the buds softened again, allowing you to pull away. he let go of your hair, quickly regaining his lucidity. "o-oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! i-i didn't mean to-" he tried to apologize but you cut him off with a smile made of sin, your gaze darkening.

"those... hooks. don't you think they'd be pretty useful for breeding?"

part 2 :p

[koreluvsspring]

PLEASE?

Jealous!Clark Kent finds his mutant!telepath ex on a date.

cw: 18+, yearning/pathetic!clark, mutant!telepath reader, he begs A LOT in this, m!masturbation, switch!clark, he orgasms while watching you touch yourself, voyeurism (2k)

He thinks it's the right decision to cut you out of his life.

You're far more trouble to keep around in the long run, mostly because you'd forced him to always answer you with pure and utter honesty. (Given that you could tell what went through his mind constantly.)

It'd turned exhausting eventually, having the pretty girl he occasionally slept with nitpick at his displaced sense of self-fulfilment — his 'purpose' for protecting mankind. It wasn't until you'd intentionally withheld information from him that everything spiralled into a big fight.

He didn't like the reminder that the only reason he'd been on earth was to carry on a legacy written for him. Clark had something to prove, and his priority in protecting and serving the people took precedence in place of a relationship worth nurturing.

It was the first time he'd raised his voice at you in an argument, and had also been the very last time he could ever hear your voice.

Clark runs into you at a local pub after weeks of going no-contact.

It hits him all at once when he sees you bouncing at the heel of your feet, smiling, waving all perky and sweet at his general direction. His heart thrums that you were still treating the same, open and available for him. So he subconsciously gravitates towards you.

But your smile wasn't for him. A man behind Clark shoulders past. He's watching in a slow simmering annoyance as the stranger kisses your cheek, acting far too familiar with you.

Clark isn't quite paying attention to Olsen anymore, the little tirade he was going on and on about Eva goes over his head. Because how could he say a single thing when he was here, staring daggers to his 'ex's' date at the other side of the bar?

He doesn't notice how he'd been tapping his feet relentlessly on the sticky floors, sending intense earth-quake like vibrations all around. Everyone seems to catch it, not knowing where the source of it was.

You were already looking towards Clark's direction, the smile on your face turning to a frown. This time, you weren't going to entertain him.

(…I know you can hear me.)

Your breath catches. The rim of your margarita glass halted at your lips. You swallow the liquid down with a hefty swig, opting to bat your lashes for the man before you.

(Is this the kind of man you'd go for now? He doesn't look like the respectful sort.)

He was the one who cut things off. So this desperate show? It was gnawing at the rational parts of your brain.

You smile at your date, with your elbows leaned on the table to whisper something into the man's ears. But from Clark's vantage point, it'd looked far too intimate for his liking.

His jaw tenses imperceptibly, the edges of the now empty glass cracks under the weight of his grip.

(Look at me.)

You're failing terribly, not wanting to give into his hot and cold behaviour. It's your peripherals that ultimately betray you.

(Let's talk. Outside.)

He tries, as a last-ditch effort.

(Please.)

You notice him standing up to excuse himself, Olsen getting up in suit to head out front. Clark casts a quick glance at you, but you don't follow after him. He doesn't return even after fifteen minutes go by.

It was for the best. Or that's what you'd tried to tell yourself.

After another ten minutes, you get up to head to the bathroom.

Truthfully, you wanted to ditch the guy since he walked in. The filth in his mind was overwhelming — a man not even being able to formulate a non-sexual thought despite the conversation being anything but.

You fingers tense around your purse when you think about Clark. His mind was far from those. Always circling around how he could keep people around him safe, comfortable, and even while he fucked you, his thoughts were only ever for you.

Prioritising you.

The dim neon pink lights flicker overhead, and you still in place. Seeing his figure leaned up next to the restrooms with his arms folded. Waiting. Patiently.

Clark's head lifts to look to you, and he offers you a smile. The same, annoyingly dimpled one that neutralised whatever feeling churned in your gut.

"Bit creepy even by your standards." Your voice comes out tense, and you stop short of him while trying to shimmy past him. Clark catches your elbow with a gentle hold.

"Is it a crime to want to talk to you?"

"It is when you want nothing to do with me."

His brows furrow, a palm raised in a accusatory gesture. "I never — I never said that."

"You didn't have to. You can't even give me what I need."

"Oh." He sounds out, slow and sarcastic. "Is that so? And — excuse my language, the douchebag out there can?"

"Yeah, actually." You challenged, stepping closer to him, until his back is flush against the stickered, graffiti laden walls. "I sure as hell don't need your approval to fuck anyone I want."

His expression is unreadable, but his hold on your arm relaxes. "Don't say stuff that."

"Why? Does it hurt your ego? Let's take a guess if it's Clark Kent or Superman who's acting like a little boy whose toy got taken away." Clark isn't amused by the tone you take, lips taut as he shakes his head.

He sounds your name, threatening. "— you know that I don't like it when you talk this way."

You throw your hands up with a groan, "there's no winning with you! You want me, you don't want me, you leave me, you can't stand me moving on —"

Clark doesn't let you finish. His arm hooks around your hips to drag you along with him. Practically lifting you off the ground before the two of you are stumbling out of the back doors together.

"Clark?!"

It happens all too quickly. Your feet are no longer on the floor, you're both now in the skies — with nothing but the sensation of wind fluttering through your clothes. Clark's palm comes up to firmly cover around your ears, guiding your face flush onto his chest to prevent whiplash.

The second your heels meet the wooden floors of his balcony, you're sputtering, "are you nuts?"

Clark is looking at you. His mind is dead silent.

It's unsettling.

Because Clark Kent's mind never was.

His palm cradles your jaw and he kisses you abruptly, arms snug around your hips. You're whining muffled into his lips, nails digging around his biceps in both shock and relief from feeling him after so long. "Mhh—Cl—…mm!"

Clark doesn't let you breathe, and you feel him hold you up against him, the tip of your pink heels barely reaching the ground while he walks the both of you to his couch. You blink to glance behind him, not registering until now at the balcony door being cracked open off its hinges — just from how swiftly he'd ripped it open.

You push Clark's shoulder away, seperating your kiss while panting into his mouth. "You don't get to do this. I'm not doing stuff on your terms anymore."

His eyes are glazed over, akin to sheer need. His breath is heavy against your jaw, but you don't let him kiss you. Simply scooting back into his couch.

Your rejection stung him.

(I missed you.)

You visibly flinch. A tinge of softness in your gaze before you whip away. "And you're still too much of a coward to actually say shit."

Clark kisses at your jaw. (I'm sorry.) And at your neck — (I'm sorry.) peppering kisses down your collarbone, and to your shoulder. (I was an idiot.) Then, he leaves a trail of pecks down your arm, and to your palms. His words ring in your mind loudly, you wanted nothing more than to silence them, but the sincerity has you wavering in your resolve.

"Forgive me."

His whisper ghosts your knuckles. Waiting for just a flicker of approval in your eyes.

But you don't give it to him. Not yet at least.

Clark shifts lower. Lifting your ankle up high enough for him to kiss at the bedazzled straps.

Your breath briefly stutters, watching as he braces his arm on the cushion. Tracing gentle kisses up your shin, and then your inner thighs, leaving warm, wet spots in its wake.

He doesn't get to inch any closer when you interrupt his kisses, lifting his head up with your knees. Clark moves to hover over you. A soft cushion slot beneath your hips.

"Let me make it up to you."

It burns at him. Not being able to kiss you. Especially with how your gloss was smeared at the corner of your lips. He licks over his own, tasting the remnants of cherries.

You look at him. Still apprehensive. So you're tugging at his belt, just enough to unbutton it. And just when he thinks you were going to relent. You pull away, leaving him confused.

"Touch yourself."

He isn't sure he heard you right. So he's waiting for a follow up that doesn't come. You merely nudge your head towards his pants.

Clark swallows, his throat suddenly dry. If this was what it took to get in your good graces, he'd do anything. He falls to his knees, looking up at you where you were rested on the couch. Balls of your feet rested on his shoulder.

He's fumbling at his zipper, tugging his slacks down enough to free his half hard cock from its confines. You wrap your palm around his wrists. Bringing it to your mouth.

Clark watches you, with his brows knit.

You spit in his bigger, heavier palms, letting the translucence dribble onto it. He lets out a soft breath when you release, his hand bringing your offering to the tip of his cock.

His digits circle the wetness of the thick head, and down to his shaft. It quickly hardens to its full length. Clark's gaze is transfixed on you, at the way your chest rises and dips.

"Are you — really not…ha—ahh…" he grits his teeth, pumping slower, "not gonna…let me touch..you..?"

Clark's words borders on whiny, his nose leaving featherlight grazes over your shin.

"Didn't you say you wanted to make it up to me?"

His eyes flutters shut briefly, before they're hazily blinking open. He nods hastily, head lolled to the side to press his lips onto your ankle. You shudder, base of your heels pushing at his forehead, tutting.

"I never said you could touch me."

Clark's pained expression falls to the rustle of your clothes, where you were dragging the skirt up your hips. Flashing him with the sight of the laced thong beneath.

"You're trying…to kill me." He pants, squeezing at the base of his cock to pace himself.

Your eyes are glinting, thumbing around your clit, wetness soaking through the pale blue fabric.

Clark grunts your name out in whispers, picking up the pace, pumping harder. You notice that his head falls, trying to focus on the sensation alone. Trying to cum, but it isn't working.

You tip his jaw up with your heel, leg hooking at the base of his neck, tugging him close. Clark complies, propping himself up on one knee, still pumping himself urgently.

"Uh-uh." You warn, stopping him before his lips get anywhere close to your cunt. He rests his cheek your thighs with a laboured exhale.

Your fingers trace over your clit, and he's looking, intently. Watching the slow dip of your manicured fingers into your pussy, and dragging out with a slickness glossing over your digits.

"G—…geezus.." he mutters. Clark's blue eyes alternates between the sight before him and the unabashed lust on your face. "Gosh— I-I'm—"

He turns to nuzzle his face on your inner thighs, mouthing, biting as his cum bubbles over his knuckles. He's panting heavily, warm breath turning to pressing reverent kisses to your tummy.

You don't tell him if he's forgiven, but the caress of your hands carding through his hair is answer enough.

[koreluvsspring]

SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE

Clark finally corners you after you'd been avoiding him.

TAGS: 18+, smut, villain!reader, primal play, enemies to lovers, red kryptonite!clark kent, anal, hate fucking, intercrural, clark uses his powers on reader, unprotected p-in-v, mentions of blood & violence, finger-fucking, sexual tension, tummy bulge, multiple orgasms, dub con, they fuck NASTY is all i'm gonna say (3k wc)

Red Kryptonite — Removes inhibition from Kryptonians.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE It was meant to be a quick S&R. Subdue & Retrieval as Clark liked to call it, though the Justice Gang disagreed wholeheartedly. The mutant gator that was loose in the heart of Metropolis had caused significant destruction, and the gang's interference had only spurred to rile the beast out even more. Its' tails swinging like a deadly pendulum, flinging vehicles left & right.

Clark had been putting out fires as it came, catching trucks with ease so it wouldn't cause any further damage or harm to people. Or in other words, dealing with the Justice Gang's mess. Guy was entirely ready to eliminate the target, but a flash of blue and red blocks his line of vision.

The man turns around, holding his palms up. "I've got it handled from here." Clark doesn't wait for the confirmation as he turns his attention to the beast, bracing himself onto the scaly creature that bound by green energy-like ropes.

"Go—lly," he grunts, shoving it further into a culvert. "What the hay is up with you, big dude?"

The reptile hissed and thrashed, its' snout dripping with fluids that wasn't just gator-liquid. Thick, tar-coloured goop oozes from the teeth, glowing faintly in the floodlights.

His nose wrinkled at the metallic & chemical scent assaulting his nose, shaking it off in annoyance. Clark's arms tensed around the torso of the gator and twists suddenly, snapping at his forearm but missing by just a few millimeters, the spray of whatever came out of its' throat had definitely gotten on him.

"Oh are you kidding me?" He rasps out, high pitched, wincing as he attempts to wipe away at the fluid that was quickly absorbing into wherever it came into contact his skin. The sting was dulling beneath, spreading. Clark pulls the sleeves of his suit higher on his forearms.

The veins running from his hand and up arm pulsed an unnatural faint red. "Huh." He murmurs. Clark his arm once, and then again. No dice. It doesn't prick quite as much anymore, so he turns his attention back to the gator, nudging it into a transport cage, slamming the hatch shut.

"Alright. Off to quarantine you go." Clark turns to let the scientists headed rush in from the high-tech blue gates at the other end of the culvert, the sound of the siren blaring all around has him turning back.

"What's —…what's with the sirens?"

One of the researchers look up at Clark. Rubbing behind their ears nervously. "There was break-in earlier…couple of gadgets & inventory swiped." Clark bends at his shoulder, hands tucked behind his back politely while he surveys the footage the bespectacled men offered him. Timestamp indicating just five minutes ago.

Clark watches, and then his breath catches at the familiar curve of hips and curved mask that sat on her eyes.

He sighs, dragging his hand down his face, looking out of the entrance, "I'll deal with it."

The researcher looks up at Clark, confused. "Oh, don't you need the rest of the footage?"

"There's no need. Thank you."

Clark waves at the men, stepping out of the culvert. His footing stutters as he rubs at his arm where the glowing red veins lingered. The more he flexed his hand, the more it glowed. Irritation filled him at the situation in place of his endless patience for hero-work-related-after-sprays. Weird.

That's when a shift in the shadows catches in his peripherals. Half shadowed in the corners of the abandoned warehouse rooftop opposite the makeshift lab. Crouched before a duffel, gloved fingers twisting around vials.

"You're not very easy to find."

You whip your head to the source of the noise. Letting out a prolonged groan as Clark floated up, boots touching the edge of the roof.

It was no secret that he'd been trying to corner you. Every single time the outcome was the same. He'd catch a glimpse of you before you'd slipped from his fingertips. Whether it was losing you in a crowd, or a disturbance you caused that had him grasping tooth and nails to help them instead of catching you.

In reality, Clark could easily do so if he really wanted to. But he never did. He stopped himself every time, even when the frustration filled him. You deserved to allow him into your orbit in your own time, deserved your own autonomy. Plus, he didn't have an actual reason to hunt you down either, it wasn't like you'd been vagrantly unhelpful.

He'd quickly learned that every single crime on your ledger, contributed to something bigger than yourself. Even if you did enjoy stirring chaos in your wake.

But that wasn't the issue. It was the fact you'd been blatantly avoiding him. Clark just wanted to thank you. Especially with how you'd rehabilitated him back to health after his run-in with that bewilder-beast weeks ago. You'd just vanished, never being at your loft, never letting him talk to you. Like he was just someone you crossed off your list.

It bugged him. More than he'd ever want to admit.

"And you're easy to run from, supershit."

You tossed the strap of your duffel over your shoulder, flashing him a honey sweet smile that had his jaw tensing. Before he could get a word out, you sprung off the roof, landing on a nearby ledge, and skittering off like you usually had.

Clark watches you, the pulse on his forehead throbbing in anger. He's never lost control of his emotions this easy. Not like when he'd confronted Luthor about taking Krypto.

No this, this felt different.

All the failed attempts of reaching you bubbled in his chest all at once. His figure blurs ahead, air snapping at the sudden movement. Clark doesn't realise how fast he'd moved until he was there, hovering a few feet before you. Head tilted slowly, shadow dwarfing the neon signs around.

You froze in place, mid-sprint. His presence bordered on ominous, you couldn't put a finger on what exactly it was. He wasn't looking at you with steady, gently eyes any longer. It felt darker.

"Stop running from me."

Your heart thrums at your ears at the low rasp of his voice. No boy-scout level smile or exasperation, just a decisive command shoved your way. Your eye twitches before you turn heel, ducking underneath the buzzing signs, scaling down the ledge with an urgency you normally hadn't felt.

The stillness from behind you had you relieved. And you slump back into the alley walls. Trying to catch your breath, except —

"Oh fuck me." You choke out a gasp when the gravel crackles beneath you at the force of Clark's landing. The aged concrete exploding upwards, leaving a billowing dust cloud in a distance of the figure kneeled in it.

Your hand snapped to your chest. Coughing as the particles filled your lungs. You squinted at him when he straightened up from the shadows. His veins burned a vivid red, searing through the blue of his suit. His eyes glowed a faint red, before they turns to its' original shade.

"Okay…" You begin out, palms raising up. Gut twisting at his new 'look.' "There's no way you've got this big of a stick up your ass over a couple of stolen vials." Your tone was mocking, but unable to hide the weight of fear in your chest.

Clark huffed out a humourless laugh. "I don't care about that." He steps closer, head lolled to the side. "I care that you've been running from me."

The brick behind you sizzles beneath your arms. Straps of your duffel frying to an absolute crisp until it thuds to the ground. You let out a loud gasp, more annoyed than scared now.

"That…was a Lululemon duffel bag you fucking dick." Fueled by the newfound anger in you, you lunged at him with a few steps. Clark hadn't moved, letting you slam him back into the wall.

The bricks rattled loudly with an outline of his back, and then another indent when you swing at him once, the force of his head thwacking to the bricks creating a slight crackle. Which goes to show how painful the blow would've been.

But when you look up, he was smiling. Rolling his shoulder with your palm still flush on his throat. "You're holding your punches." He spits the blood out onto the ground, his own palm coming out to soothe his jaw.

The red flared over the whites of his eyes and you pull away like you were burned. He was under the influence of someone, or something. He catches your arm before you could slip away again with a bruising hold.

Pulling you once, and then slamming you into the man-shaped indent of the brick wall. Dust pooling when the force has your back create a smaller shape in its' place. "Ugh—!"

Clark roughly grabs your jaw, tipping your head up and to the side so he could lean down. Breath brushing your ears in a low gravel.

"I told you. I just want to talk."

Your eyes were visibly twitching, clearly of pain. It became abundantly obvious just how much strength he had over you. You're grabbing helplessly around his wrist, clawing at him painfully. "O—Ok, Okay! So t…ugh…alk.." You managed through gritted teeth. He eases his hold on your jaw, pulling back just enough to drag his gaze over you.

"Your loft has been empty for weeks."

You're taking a breath, as much as you even can with how he was holding your jaw in place. "Cuz you freakin' wrecked it! I've been…crashing elsewhere."

He frowns, looking away for a second before he comes to a decision. "Why? I caused it. You can stay with me." You snort in his face at that.

"Yeah right. As if I'm gonna shack up with the dude who has me in a choke-hold."

"Because you attacked me," he counters.

You roll your eyes, "and who chased who first, exactly?"

"You ran from me."

"So?"

"So I don't fuckin' like it." He grits out intensely, lifting you with the hold that curled around your throat.

Your eyes widened at the uncharacteristic curse he lets out, your heels lifted off the ground just a tad. "Y-You're acting — weirder than…usual!" You grit out, kneeing at his abdomen, though in futile. He plops you back down unceremoniously.

"I'm fine. Just annoyed." Clark sighs, his arm curling around the back of your waist to turn you around, your forearms rested on the wall. His other hand tugs at your hips, forcing them to bend at the waist.

"Yeah, I don't buy it." You shoot back, letting him manhandle you into the position he wished. A pained, stuttered breath leaves your lips when his hand travels down to yank at your jacket's zipper. Your tits practically spilling out at the force of his touch.

You gasp slightly at the coldness that hits you, "jesus! some tact, maybe?" you grumble. His arm tugs you flush onto his chest, tilting your jaw to meet his kiss, that deepened on touch. You whine into his lips, his palms groping around the softness of your chest.

He's grinding onto you fully, rocking himself until he's fully hard. Licking into your mouth and pulling your hesitant moans while his fingers tweak around your nipples. Your thighs are squirming at the build up of heat.

For some reason, his added roughness was…turning you on.

Clark doesn't warn you when he's gripping the back of your waistband, tearing your your leggings apart with ease. "Hey!" You hiss, attempting to survey the damage, but he secures his hold on your jaw, drowning your complains in his mouth. You're grumbling until a hardening warmth pokes at your lower back.

It seems to stop your struggle, "I-I don't know what's gotten into you, but I don't —mmnh.." He kisses you again, and then mouths at your neck, then your shoulders, "I don't want it to…hurt…"

You see him hesitate. Almost as though he was at war with his own mind — hunger, battling with the very human part of him that was being clouded with something else. He hums, angling his cock to rub between your thighs.

The heat of him has you clenching your thighs tighter. Clark moves back and forth, your growing slick coating his cock with every gentle movement.

"…Okay."

Your head lowers, thighs damn near shaking as his hand hooks around your panties, pulling them up until it rubs at your clit. "M-Mhh!" You squeak, tip toeing at the sudden, and all too much stimulation. He holds your hips down firm, breathing laboured while he fucks the plush of your thighs.

The stimulation of him rubbing you has you nearly tipping over the edge, but you grab blindly for him behind you. "Don't wanna…cum. N-Not like this.."

Clark groans, you were so fucking sweet like this. Honest, pliant. His forehead rests on the back of your neck. Your hips tilt higher when his fingers slide down your belly, brushing past your mound. "Oh.."

A exhale of contentment has your head rested on your forearms. He rubs at your your clit with his palm, and you buck at him helplessly, dripping onto his cock. "Feels…good."

Clark nips at your shoulder, earning a mewl from you when he opts to nudge to of his fingers into your pussy. Your mind was a haze, a mix of the pleasure and pain.

"Pussy…too damn…tight."

He mutters, dazed, curling his fingers deeper into your velvety tight walls. Your thighs are quivering in jolts every time he pumps them in and out. The schliick of his fingers probing into you, palm rubbing your clit at every jerk. "So, so, perfect for me. Always."

Your eyes are unfocused, biting down on your lips at the endless praises he burns into your skin. "Superman —"

Clark grunts at that, tilting your jaw up roughly.

"Clark." He corrects. And you blink up at him. "Call me Clark."

You gasp into his mouth when he adds more fingers into your pussy, massaging and stressing your walls. He lowers his head, not quite kissing you yet. Your breath ghosts his before they finally whisper, "…Clark." You say, testing, between small gasps and jerks from him finger fucking you.

Clark looks pained, letting out a stuttered breath at hearing your needy voice call him. His lips clashes with yours clumsily, all tongue and messy. He pulls out of your pussy all at once, rubbing at your clit with an overwhelming intensity.

Your hips lift and you're trying to squirm away. But the stimulation, It had you mewling into his mouth. The veins of his cock wedged between your folds, rubbing impossibly hard, was making you full even when he wasn't even in you.

A white flash takes you, and you groan, muffled. Thighs shivering in the wake of your release. He lets go of you, lips latched onto your pulse, trailing to the sensitive parts of your ears.

You're leaning into his touch, his breathe heavy with his cheeks flush to yours. You feel him glide his palm down your hips, then, he drags his cock slow. Dragging his leaking tip away from your slit.

Trepidation fills you, and before you can hesitate, he's angling his cock at your puckered hole. "Clark —" you try, but he isn't listening. He drags the slick of your pussy, nudging just the tip in. You're letting out a guttural groan at the same time he does.

He smiles into the side of your cheeks, rocking slow into you to let you stretch around your girth, "g—gosh…" he groans, a palm slamming the wall next to where your forearms rested, the concrete caves in with his fingers digging into it. "Been…thinkin'..about this…ever since…" Clark sighs, nuzzling his nose into your jaw. The grunts you let out are near animalistic, pussy clenching around nothing, only focus on the stretch of your asshole around his girth.

"Could…could cum like this." He gasps, breathing heavily into your shoulder while he's poking his cock halfway into the tight walls.

"In…me..please." You whisper out, he kisses the back of your head, pulling out before he ended up busting his load right into you there.

Clark's hold on your hips tighten, and his cock slips from your puckered hole. His cock pokes at your pussy this time, and he thrusts into you with a snap of his hips. You grunt at every one of his movements, fists tightening where they rest on brick.

"Ugh—urk—you…are —" he's whimpering into the shell your ears, "so—", he rocks you back into him, forceful, "so…pretty."

Your eyes roll back at being filled so damn full and deep, clenching tight around his cock. It's aching, and filling you all at once. Your cheeks warm, gritting your teeth at his usual babbles, ohmygoshso—goshdarned'softn—

Clark grunts, spilling deep into you with a rough jerk. You're gasping and biting into his forearm. His cock bobs out of you, leaving you dripping, his cum leaking out from your folds.

With a grip around your hips, Clark turns you around, swooping you up into his arms. You feel the two of you lift into the air, a slow flutter of his cape draped over your thighs.

"Wh…where are you —"

"My place. I'm not done." He mumbles at the side of your head.

Clark's place looked like the aftermath of the Justice Gang attempting to 'save the day'.

Kitchen cabinet doors ripped clean off, shards of ceramic dishes all over the tiled flooring. The couch had been slashed through with trails of laser beam aftermath.

You'd stirred awake to the scent of pancakes. Limbs all achy and heavy before your eyes adjusted to the unfamiliar, and wrecked surroundings before they zero in on Clark at the stove.

His broad, bare back was proper clawed up, muscles flexed at his movements. He doesn't turn around when he speaks. "I went ahead and retrieved some of your clothes belongings. They're in my bedroom."

Your heart jumps when he finally speaks, then, you frown, voice scratchy. "What? Why?"

Clark finally glances at you over his shoulder.

"I told you. You're gonna crash here…until you get your place fixed."

[koreluvsspring]

TERRITORIAL

Superman has a bad day.

TAGS: 18+, smut, villain!reader, enemies to lovers, clark is injured, reader helps clark to shower, reluctant caretaking, romantic/sexual tension, flash back that depicts p-in-v/creampies, clark accidentally 'laser beams' during an orgasm - smallville ref! (2.8k words) 𖤓 david corenswet masterlist | main masterlist | inbox 𖤓

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE It'd taken a full rehabilitation period for you to get back into your original state after getting pounded by Superman. Comical as it seemed, you were feeling him even after days. As proven by the bruised hand marks you had, particularly around your hips, and deep purple hickeys littered over your torso. He even had the audacity to try to cook breakfast for you the following morning. (Though you'd kicked him flat when he tried to have you 'join him'. The pancakes were great, you were pretty sure you didn't have any of those ingredients at home.)

By day four, you were feeling much better. All cooped up in your couch, knees tucked to your chest. You mindlessly cruised through the channels, all while your laptop screen flickers between surveillance footage of your next job.

The TV was more for ambient noise. It was a mindless routine for you, checking and scoping out blind spots for your jobs often meant staring at absolutely nothing, just looking for patterns and weaknesses you could very well exploit.

You were half-distracted with a pint of strawberry swirl ice cream, nothing but the dim halos of the digital screens keeping you company that evening.

The news breaks through your bubble of concentration with its' current subject.

BREAKING NEWS: Superman spotted earlier in downtown Metropolis, intervening with some sort of iron-like beast. Not winning, it seems.

Snapping for the remote, you increase the volume, watching him get flung and ricocheted through buildings. "Oooooooohhhhhh." You wince, a laughter stifled through your fists. "That's gotta hurt."

It'd turned into your half time show, and you'd ensued giving your own commentary. "Oh, oh, oh!" You slapped your hands together, throwing your head back in glee when he was practically flicked through memorial park. Unfortunately for you, good things never lasted for long.

"What? Come on!" You slump back, blowing raspberries in your cheeks. "The Justice Gang? Really?" Groaning, you'd shut the TV off in annoyance, of course he'd have people coming to bail him out. So much for the protector of earth.

Sometimes, you did wonder if he should've just done what his apparently parents sent him to earth for. It would work wonderfully considering he was pretty much big enough to do an IVF manually.

You had a full body shudder to that idea. The memories returning to you like war flashbacks. You drag yourself up, still a limp to your steps. Mostly from muscle aches on your thighs like you'd done an intense workout. Except they weren't. God knows you spent days dealing the phantom sensation of Superman's dick haunt your pussy in the weirdest moments.

Just as you open the fridge, the spoon from your pint clatters to your floor, clattering underneath. You sigh, flopping down to your knees to peek at where it tumbled to. "Just my luck…" Your hips arch uncomfortably, and the second you relax in said position, the deja-vu hits you.

"Oh, my, god!"

Your voice is hoarse from overexertion, you aren't even sure how many times you've cum by now. Clark had his entire body weight pressed onto you. Fucking you in deep thrusts while holding you in a firm headlock.

He's babbling incoherently, jumbles of you'resosoftandprettyandwarmoh!'s spilling into the shell of your ears. Incessant, is what it is. You're damn near relieved when he opts to grab your jaw up, tipping your head to him so he could kiss you. Drinking in all your mewls and drool. But it gives you away, the way you're clenching and kegeling on his cock when he's back to muttering even more praises into your mouth.

"Mhng—ah..mh. You're so, gosh darned perfect. C-Could do this, forever. S-She's squeezing me so tight.." He's licking a stripe at the corner of your lips, collecting the tears that drip.

"God, could you just say normal s-shit like pussy. Or whatever!" You ground out, cheeks falling limp on the security of his biceps.

"I can't do that." He mutters sheepishly, his face buried at the expanse of your neck. You'd never expected a man like Superman to be a whiny-little-mess, but it was starting to get to you, blooming godforsakened butterflies in your gut you desperately wanted to kill.

Clark lifts his head off you, feeling the all familiar tension in his gut, but it was another throb in his head that follows. He groans, snapping his hips into you deep, and slow. "O-Oh gosh, I'm gonna —"

The walls leave a long line of crackled indents at the string of laser beams he lets out between thrusts. Burning the surrounding paintings. You look up defeatedly. Sighing.

It barely surprises you this time. Considering the three other, still smoldering line of charred concrete following his eye line. You'd really rather he be a crier. Or premature ejaculator. But no, laser-beams-while-cumming was now apparently a thing.

You can hear Clark panting behind you, soothing the reddened marks on your hips apologetically. You don't offer him a response, merely burying your face in your sheets, voice muffled.,"stupid…fuckin'…alien ass.."

Your thigh still twitches from your overstimulated orgasms. Reddened pussy now pushing, gushing with his seed. "Y…ou're awfully quiet. You're not looking at my ass are you?" You throw your words over your shoulders.

The sight you offered him was pornographic & Clark was mesmerized.

He'd never considered himself to be the kind who'd want to breed a woman. Especially not after he'd found out his parents true intentions. But the way your pussy was pushing out his cum, in slow dribbles, it was stirring something innate in him.

"I swear supershit, if you're planning to poke that thing into my asshole I'll kill you." Your voice was croaked, but the point still got across. It doesn't hold much bite, you weren't completely against it, but not with Clark.

His thoughts instantly snap back to reality. And his head drops. Clark shakes his head with a groan. "Good gosh."

"Do you ever hear yourself speak? Actually?"

"Have you seen your dick?"

Obviously, you weren't bothered to take his criticisms to heart. "I take that as a no, then," he grunts when you swat at him with your ankles.

You were feeling better, considering how much easier it was for your body to snap back in shape. But even super-power-mutant bodies needed a goddamn break. A long, prolonged whine leaves you as you stretch — arms reached out. Your hip lifts, arching at the waist.

"Nnnngh—ohhh…that hit the spot."

Clark damn near doubles over. His cock twitching back to life. Nevermind that he was watching cum begin to trickle down your thighs in slow motion. It was the tremble of satisfaction of your left thigh that had him pawing at your hips once more.

"Woah —" Your head perks up, and you look back at him. A feeling akin to an electric shock takes you when he tugs you flush to the length of his cock. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

His snaps a palm out to rest on your headboard that splinters and crackles beneath his grip. Your head follows the sound. A feeling of utter dread fills you, and you shut your eyes in defeat.

"No, I am not."

You snap out of your daze with a stuttered breath.

Springing back up to sit on your thighs. Ridiculous was what it was? He was taking over your mind in the most annoying ways possible. Superman turned into a day-nightmare that plagued you even when you were awake.

You opted to grab the discarded utensils with your toes this time. Standing up and staring where your bed was, it was proper wrecked, walls painted with streaks of concrete melted and charred by his laser beams.

"This is has to be some divine punishment. Just has to be." While rubbing your temples, you reached out to water bottle on your kitchen island.

You choked mid-sip.

Water sputtering down your chin when sharp cracks and splintering glass ricochets entirely into your living room. You snap your head up to look at the dome skylight, shards raining into the room before your actual problem followed.

A blur of red and blue comes crashing into your floors. The impact of it rattling you to your core. A dust cloud blooms around the figure and you're wearily approaching it.

You cough once, and then twice, waving away the dust cloud to see a literal concrete crater beneath a broad-shouldered figure in its' center.

"Are you — " you stop, staring at the way he was breathing slow and heavy with his cape draped over him. Curls were fallen on his face in a frustratingly perfect manner, though his pretty face was bruised and bloodied, "— Out of your fucking mind?"

Clark was talking. Or at least that's what you were able to see with his mouth moving. "Couldn't make it to fortress…this…was closest…"

Your eyes are completely narrowed, knees bent in an awkward stance to try to haul him out of the apparent Superman-sized-crater in your living room. "Fortress. Manslaughter, Avunculicide, yes. You're saying words. I have no idea what the hell you're on about."

It's then you recalled from earlier that he was pretty much chewed and spit out by steel bewilder beast out there. You sigh, hooking your arms beneath his torso. Even with your strength, it was like carrying the dead weight of a building-adjacent alien. "UGH. C'mon, Big Blue. Can't —…"

Dead weight was dead weight, you supposed.

"Fantastic—ugh—I—mff—have—haaah—a..dog I..didn't..adopt. A six foot…" you grunted, dragging his body in shuffles, "possibly concussed..ugh—dog!" With a exhausted groan, you collapsed behind him halfway on your way to the foot of your bed.

"If you're dead. Tell me now. I'm just gonna just turn you into a campfire here."

Clark grunts at that, "…hey…that's real messed up…" he's mumbling in almost a boyish, whiny tone, before slumping his head onto your lap.

You're glaring at him with a disgruntled look. A tinge of pity at his state. You could leave him on the floor. Or. You wince at your thought of kindness.

"Hey." You snap twice before his face, "there's no way in hell i'm letting you on my sheets on your…" you paused. Raking over his rubble, grime coated super suit. "Outside clothes."

Clark makes a sound, a mix between a groan and a laugh. "..Didn't…think you..were a clean…freak.."

"Ohhh—hohhh supershit. I'm SO close to just throwing you out my front porch." With a mumble of encouragement to yourself, you drag maneuver him towards your bathroom.

"Move your freakin' feet!" You hiss when he nearly tips you over in your warm copper tiled shower.

"…They're movin'…" He manages, absolutely making no effort to move a muscle.

"You are THE worst patient." You huff out through gritted teeth. Propping him up against the glass doors.

"…Y'say that…as if…you had others.."

"Maybe I have. Maybe I haven't." You rolled your eyes, humoring him as you grabbing your shower head. "You're not special, you know."

Clark tilts his head to look at you, bruised & semi-conscious. It makes your heart twinge, but then, "liar." Lips quirking up just enough to be irritating.

You spray him point blank with water. "Oops. Itchy trigger finger."

He lets out a pained whimper at that, shielding himself. "You're mean." He whines out, and you kneel down. Fingers hooked around the waist band of his super-suit.

Clark catches your wrist and you raise your brows. "Are you seriously getting shy? When you've literally fucked the life out of m—"

He squeezes your cheeks, cutting you off. The effort to do that alone clearly costs him, and his head tips back against the glass. He finally relents, slumping as you peel the suit off of him. It lands in the corner in a wet, heavy slap.

It's different. Seeing him in daylight. You're hesitating, traitorous eyes raking down his sculpted body, heaving and exhausted from over exertion. Hear prickles at your neck when you drag your gaze up his slim waist, and his broad shoulders. Curls a little damper from your 'pre-mature' spray. You shake your head. Ignoring the fact you were taking a scenic route of assessing the extent of his injuries.

You grab his arm, lifting it while you press the purple blooming around his muscles. He lets out a yelp, his reflexes kicking in. "Okay. So it isn't broken. Quit moaning. You're fine."

It takes Clark a second to register that you weren't just hurting him for the heck of it. (He just couldn't prove that you were in fact enjoying seeing him in pain.) "…You try getting flung through a building." He mutters, defensively.

Rolling your eyes for what seems to be the tenth time for the night, you reach out for the soap. Letting it lather in your palms before you coax it through Clark's hair. The dust & grime, suds up and rinses out. He leans into your touch, his shoulders visibly loosening. It was getting familiar. The care. And it'd been a long time since he was cared for like this.

Clark looks up, slightly dazed. Meeting your gaze. Your breath stutters at that — at the vulnerability of it, mostly. So you yank his head to whip his face away. "Don't look at me." The damage was done, your cheeks were warming up at an alarming rate.

A stubborn smile quirks at his lips. He hears the quickening of your pulse. But chooses not to point it out.

You're halfway through rinsing his back that his limbs were slack. "Hey." You grip around his bicep, shaking it. A groan rips through you when you realise that he'd passed out.

You haul him up once more, cursing every god that ever existed while you dragged him to your bed, muscles straining with his weight.

And in an even more uncharacteristic move? You put him in fresh clothes, and tossed him under your sheets.

Clark slowly blinks awake. Muscles feeling lighter, but aching still. His eyes flick around to see that he was in a bed that wasn't his. And then it drifts, to your silhouette, eyeing the soft curve of your waist and neck, asleep next to him.

He swallows thickly, trying to move, but it all feels restricted. Clark glances down to see a tight shirt spanned around his chest. He's squinting, faintly recognizing a profanity on it but not being able to read it with his hazy vision. Riding up enough to act like a crop top on him. It's then you stir beside him, frowning as you look over your shoulder at movement behind you.

A flicker, barely, of relief graces your expression.

"Wow. Seventy two hours of you being passed out. Impressive. Get out of my bed." You mutter, scratchy from sleep.

Clark grumbles under his breath about still feeling weak. And then a bunch of nonsense about not having enough plant, like he was a freaking plant. You're dismissively waving it off before curling into yourself.

"Hey," he mutters, and for a moment you think he might thank you for all you'd done for him. "What…do the words on this shirt say?"

You sigh. "Dad Fucker."

"…Yeah. That checks out."

Clark shifts, scooting closer to you. Instinctively, your butt lifts to scooch away. Before you were entirely successful, a heavy hand lands on your hips. Dragging you back and flush to his chest. You gasp in annoyance, heart stuttering in a mix of irritation and a flutter of a butterfly long overdue a stampede to death in your belly.

But then you still.

"…Is there a reason why you're hard." You breathe out incredulously, your lower back being poked that could only mean one obvious thing.

Clark is quiet, "…morning wood." Mumbling with a tinge of embarrassment, but shamelessness with the way he's bucking up against you. "Your 'morning wood' is about three days late. Idiot."

He's nosing at your shoulder. His lips grazing just your neck.

"…I'm still sore." You admit quietly. He nods against you, thumbing at the waistband of your shorts.

"I won't put it in."

You bite the inside of your cheeks, the gravelly need in his voice making you falter in your resolve. Slowly, you tug your shorts down enough to toe it off. Clark's follows suit, adjusting his cock free. You bit down on your lips tight, holding back your moans as he slips his cock between your thighs. Snug on your folds.

"Go to sleep." He murmurs. Not exactly moving. "Just need the warmth."

Your eyes fluttered shut. Taking a composing breath.

Yeah. He's fucking nuts.

[koreluvsspring]

clark meets another super, who he can fuck the way he really wants to.

cw: 18+, smut, villain!reader, enemies to lovers, hate fucking, unprotected p-in-v, mentions of blood & violence, clark has a massive cock (ofc), sexual tension, tummy bulge, multiple orgasms, dub con, clark fucks HARD in this (2.4k wc)

𖤓 david corenswet masterlist | main masterlist | inbox 𖤓

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE clark kent had only ever dreamt of days where he'd meet his match.

he'd accepted that he was physiologically different that the humans that he kept company with. and that meant compromising. which was a multitude of things. he could only every use one percent of his actual strength in his daily tasks for starters — taking a boatload of mental fortitude to contain himself.

that applied to his sex life. an act he indulged in often.

maybe it was written in his DNA, or maybe having a significantly larger body to muscle mass meant your sex drive left you unbelievably insatiable. he couldn't tell. there wasn't much of a reference point he could compare to.

even then, it was…unfulfilling.

the women he fucked weren't to blame for it. truly. he'd learned after a couple of partners that his cock was disconcertingly massive in 'human' standards. to quote the most recent, he had a 'monster cock.' something he took literal offence to initially, but later learned that was a generic term for far exceeding 9 inches. and that meant only ever being able to fuck barely halfway in before most of them tapped out.

it was okay. he was okay with it. being superman had perks, doing good, keeping people safe. being sexually fulfilled wasn't on the forefront of his mind at all. but that didn't mean he couldn't dream of meeting someone who could keep up with him.

and that was why, clark kent was obsessed with you from the second you threw the first punch to his jaw.

"are you — … are you freakin' smiling?"

you had your knee pinned to his pulse point, knuckles flexed with clark's dried blood. other hand squishing his jaw when his smile tenses against your thumb. bloodied pearly whites peeking through. that wasn't the expression you expected from a man who was panting, bruised, and bleeding from cuts on his lips and nose.

"it hurts," he manages through a laughter of amusement, "like, actually hurts." your brows raise quizzically. it was a no shit sort of moment, because well, you'd swung at his face. repeatedly. but the crooked smile he was giving you, made your cunt clench. "okay. i do not have time to figure out what bullshit you're on. stay out of my goddamn way, superman."

he doesn't chase you when you'd gotten up, free-falling off the museum's building, thumb drive in hand.

after that, getting rid of him was near impossible. he was everywhere you were, disrupting your plans. and for some absurd reason — taking hit after hit, as if testing how much you could deal, and how much he could endure.

the next time you see him, he's skulking in your apartment, rotating a relic that didn't seem like it was from this earth.

"do you have a death wish?"

clark doesn't turn when he hears you approach him, tossing the armored headpiece up and down in his palms. "you're hera," he muses, eyes glinting when your footsteps cease where you stop short of him. the mention of your past alter-ego, sends a dreadful chill down your spine. his gaze drags over your civilian state, formal, a lanyard around your neck, pencil skirt, and a thin black rectangular framed glasses.

you snatch the item from him. dusting it off before putting it back in its' place. "i don't go by that anymore." clark stumbles backward when you shoulder past him. you don't wait before you swipe him clean off his legs, the cement floors crackling beneath his fall. "i'm giving you about twenty seconds to get out before i fuck you up, supershit."

clark reacts to that nickname instantaneously, pointing at you accusatory. "do not —" he grumbles. shaking his head before pulling himself up to his feet. you weren't paying attention to him, wrist twisted to look at the second hand tick on your watch.

"look. miss hera, i'm here to talk —"

"times up."

the force that sends him crashing into your bookshelf cracks the walls of your converted loft. you sigh, unwinding your wrist from hitting that brick wall-like chest. he doesn't want to attack you, and you see it in the way he's standing up, not getting into a defensive stance.

clark raises his palms to surrender. "please, i'm really not here to turn you in." you listen to him for a second, but you wind up to throw another. this time, he catches your fists, a crackle heard before he twists you around, pressing your fist to your back. "would you listen?" you swallow thickly, his voice blooming a warmth in you.

he grunts at you headbutting him, and you take the moment to loop your arm around his, throwing him in the direction of your television console. you briefly hear him mutter a quick 'oh geez that one hurt' in a tired boyish tone. clark looks up to the figure already charging at him. he catches you by your hips when you pounce on him, legs locked around his chest. "ow, ow, ow — i'm serious! just let me talk!"

you huff, holding him in a tight headlock where you were straddled. in the split second you hesitate, he blindly grabs around your back, holding you by the scruff of your neck before slamming you down like he was getting a feral cat off of him.

"that does it." gritting through your teeth, your heels meet the base of his jaw, and it cracks beneath the weight behind the kick. clark whines out loudly, stumbling back. his senses are attuned now, your head whips to the side when he strikes you for real, the glasses you had on flying right off.

"i really don't want to hurt you. " he pants, wiping the blood off his lips with the back of his hand. you attempt to knee him, but he catches you, the whiplash of him grabbing you by your throat has your hand grasping around his wrists. his cape flutters when clark catapults onto the other side. you let out a yelp when your back slams into the paintings behind you. he's close now, your chest heaving hard enough to graze his.

you spit out the blood that collects in your mouth, sizing him with a deadly look, "as if you can." clark looks at you intently, gaze flicking to the smear of scarlet on your lips. his jaw tightens, trying to figure out how he could get you to listen to him.

and then — he licks a stripe over your sliced bottom lip.

your whimper ghosts his jaw, and clark holds you still in place by the neck. large hands spanning your entire throat. your eyes dart to his, flitting left and right. his thumbs shift, just slightly, your pulse slowing beneath.

"you done?" he's close enough that you can feel the hum in his voice. your eye twitches at the smug tone.

"the nerve you've got…" you mutter, your own tongue catching your lower lips. he tenses at the sight of you licking over the glossiness he left.

the thrum in your chest is palpable. he feels it, and doesn't let go. the adrenaline of both the pain and closeness turning into something much more twisted.

"you're strong." clark leans close and you tip your head to the side to avoid him. he takes the opportunity to drag his nose down your neck. "as strong as i am." your breath stutters, thighs thrashing helplessly next to his hips.

"so?" you feel him sigh into your collar bone, his forehead rested on the shifted painting behind you.

"so…you can take it. take…me."

your brows furrow at that, but the answer comes in the form of the monstrosity pressed up against your abdomen, that was twitching. "is…is that what this is about? you needed a super-powered criminal fuck buddy?" the deliriousness in your tone is evident, and it seems to embarrasses him.

"this isn't ideal," he snaps in a hushed whisper. pulling back enough to turn your jaw to face him. "i know you want it too. i can…i can feel your heart rate picking up." he points out.

his face is laughably apologetic considering the span of events so far. "well, it's a given with you humping me."

clark's jaw flexes, "gosh you — the mouth on you." he sputters, the grip around your neck tightening a fraction. "you're so damn crass. this is ridiculous. what am i doing?"

you laugh in his face, and he perks up, staring blankly at just how pretty you looked when you smiled. "are you joking? you have your dick pressed onto me and you're questioning my language?"

clark winces, hips bucking into you when you point out the irony in the situation. "don't…talk like that," he's trying not to acknowledge the fact that he was quickly hardening, but your entire presence was a catalyst. "talk like what?"

he's almost certain you're being obtuse on purpose, but in the off-chance you weren't, "saying stuff like dick, and…humping so brazenly." a smile curls at the corner of your lips, and your hand drops, two of your fingers spreading apart to trace over the outline of his bulge.

"o-oh geez," he gasps, followed by a breathless "give-me-a-goddamn-warning."

the hold on your throat loosens. so you grab around his cock firmly, thumbing where his tip would be. "you're here to fuck me, right? so act like it."

clark looks to you, brows pressed into a knit. his arm snakes around your hip, "…very well, then."

you gasp at the shift in positions, where he now had you pinned on your unmade bed.

his hand curls around your wrist, slipping them underneath his suit bottom. clark jumps when your softer hands grip his bare length, it surprises you "oh."

"i-it's…not exactly small," he grits, panting into the side of your head when you stroke him with his guidance.

"no kidding. you're hung, big blue."

clark grunts at that, breaths turning heavier the more you're dry rubbing his cock. "like that. yeah... that's good."

you hum, lifting your hips to accommodate his bigger frame while he tugs his suit off. the impressive size of him comes to your view, and you let out a stuttered breath. your pussy clench almost as a pre-warning.

he drags your skirt up, bunching it at your hips. "g..osh.." he mutters, looking up to see that you've unbuttoned yourself enough to reveal the curvature of your tits beneath a lacy blue bra.

"like that we're matching?"

clark huffs out a strained laughter, head dropping lower. "that's not funny."

the smirk on you turns to a gasp when he drags his thumb over your panties, wetness slowly blooming where your slit would be. your hips tilt to his touch, and he hooks his thumb around the edge of the fabric, letting his finger dip into you just enough. you moan brokenly, looking down at the erotic sight before you.

his body was definitely as formidable as his cock, biceps visibly flexing at your ministrations. "the point…of this is so you can do what you want. right? just stick it in then."

the tremble in your voice gives away your nervousness.

clark rolls his shoulder, pushing a finger into your cunt, sounding unintentionally smug, "to fuck you…without tearing you. i need you to take at least four fingers." you clench, on instinct, when he says that. it seems to draw a cocky smile from him.

you aren't sure how long had passed.

somewhere between your second and third orgasm, you lost track of time. clark had his mouth latched around your breast, plunging his fingers deep into you, relentlessly pulling whimpers out of you.

"enough — fuck." you claw at his back, slick with sweat sticking to your cheeks. "just do it already." clark's still diligently stretching you out, marvelling at how your pussy accommodates his digits.

"okay, okay…"

you feel the loss of him all at once and with a flutter, his thighs pushes yours further apart where they were hoisted beneath your thighs. clark angles his thick tip at your entrance. "take a deep breath for me" he whispers, easing himself into you while thumbing at your clit. the reaction was immediate, you squeeze around him, hips already attempting to squirm away.

clark holds you down, feeding you his cock inch by inch and all you can do is brace yourself. "you feel — so.." he groans out, lips pressed at the corner of your parted ones. you're letting out choked, heavy breaths into his mouth, rendered mute, "so soft, a-and wet." you're teary, blinking through the blur that prickle the corner of your eyes. he feels your it wet his cheek, and he pulls back, like he'd been burnt.

"sorry, i'm sorry." his hip still. and somehow, the sting grows even more painful when he isn't moving. "are you okay? should i stop?"

your nails dig into clark's arms, dragging them down his bicep, leaving angry red marks behind. he doesn't expect it, when you grab around his neck, flipping him beneath you. you steady yourself on his chest and fully sheath yourself. the two of you groaning out in unison.

"fuck. oh fuck." clark gasps when your hips lift, and snap back down. he grabs around your thighs, stabilising you as you bounce on his cock.

"god, oh my god, it's like, you're in my…throat.." you're whimpering into his mouth, body falling limp after your brave showing of just having him fully in you. clark holds you up your jaw, drowning your moans in his mouth. his other hand slides down your ass, parting them with a finger, hold firmly around the fat. he takes takes charge to thrust up into you, deep.

"mm—ff..i-i know. it's a lot." he's blabbering in your lips, securing his hold, feeling your tight hole clenching when fingers spanning enough to graze past it, the tip of his finger rubbing where his cock meets your pussy.

it's too much, and clark knows. "y..ou're doing so g-good."

your breath stutters in his mouth, drooling into him helplessly. fuelled by the praise he gives. "so goddamn good." your cheeks presses onto his, panting when the white hot flashes take you to what's now your fourth orgasm.

it comes with no warning. he jolts once, heaving, thick spurts of his cum shooting deep into you. never-ending, seemingly. clark turns you over in a fluid motion, cock still pulsing into you with deep spurts. he presses his hand flat onto your abdomen, where the outline of him pokes at your belly.

he's in awe, fully in the depths of a newfound pleasure. a heavy palm swiping the sweaty strands of your cheeks.

clark readjusts his hold on you, a finger tearing your blouse fully apart. you jolt when the buttons clatter to the ground. you gasp out when he presses deeper into you. his palm cradling your jaw.

"wait...what are you…—" he tuts, pressing a kiss on your parted lips.

"i haven't even begun fuckin' you yet."

[koreluvsspring]

fuckable

pt. ii of suckable summary: you and clark break the "don't fuck your roommate" rule.

tags: 18+, smut (so much smut), roommate!clark, established friendship, f!reader, clark is older than reader (non-specific,) reader doesn't know clark is superman, slight angst, more mentions of clois past, fwb shenannigans, blowjobs, m!masturbation, accidental voyeurism, finger fucking (m!receiving), pillow humping, there’s a dildo, comeshot, facial, titty humping, big butt!clark, big boobs!clark, big dick!clark, sub!clark

a/n: special thank u to @joeloverture who lets me be a comebrain in her dms 24/7. this fic is 4 u <3

wc: 8.4k

my masterlist - my askbox

It’s been weeks since you first tried to suck all eight inches of Clark Kent’s dick. You still haven’t managed to make it all the way down. You’re not giving up. 

“O-okay, mm– don’t choke,” Clark sighs. He’s finally managed to feel comfortable putting his hand in your hair, but only barely. It rests at the crown of your head, not pushing or pulling, just touching. He just wants to touch you. 

Your throat contracts uncomfortably as his tip pushes at the back of your throat. You’re really trying your best not to choke on him since he hates that, but it’s difficult to open up. Something about this challenge is so exciting, especially seeing how much Clark enjoys it. 

He’s like a puppy. Each time you even begin to suggest the idea of “practicing” again you can see his dick jump in his pants. Clark’s expression is always formed into a shy look, but the shimmer of excited horniness can’t be hidden in the blush of his cheeks and the light of his eyes. He always says “we don’t have to, it’s okay,” but the fact that you want to practice sets him off every time. He’ll scamper off to the couch while shoving his pants down his thighs, usually leaving his boxers on since he likes being teased through the fabric. 

It’s exactly what happened earlier tonight. Clark’s boxers lay beside him, of course with a small stain of precome on the front, and his pants are forgotten somewhere on the kitchen floor. You had caught him washing the dishes and something about him being so responsible had your jaw tingling with a need to try fitting him in your mouth again. He’s fully leaned back on the couch now, his eyes trained on the ceiling as he breathes with an open mouth. One hand is still tangled in your hair, but the other one is cupping his own breast. Clark kneads the tit in his fingers, only letting his thumb brush over his nipple when something feels particularly good. You know why this is, and it’s why you’re keeping your hands to yourself as you kneel with his dick enveloped between your lips.

Clark has a problem with coming. Not coming too fast, but too much. And he can’t recover very quickly from it, which is terrible for practicing sucking his dick. Even though he’s around the same size while soft, it goes down much easier which feels like cheating. So you have to keep your hands to yourself, or at least he’s asked you to. It’s kind of okay, but you really miss the feeling of his skin in your hands, the weight of his pretty tits.

At least you get to watch.

His skin looks glowier than usual tonight. It’s hotter than usual, so there’s a chance he’s just sweating, but his breasts are glistening in the yellow light of the lamp. The darker hair that’s smattered between his tits is slightly sweaty and you wish you could pull off him and lick at it, but then you’d lose progress. As if this is even about that anymore.

Finally your throat opens a little more and you manage to fit another half inch down. It makes your eyes roll back for a second, the pleasant feeling of a full mouth and throat shooting a thrill up your spine. You’ve mostly been using your hands to measure how far down you get on him, starting with both your hands wrapped around almost all his firth, then removing fingers as you ease down. Tonight you’ve finally reached the last three fingers wrapped around him.

“S-slow,” Clark whines softly, his hips desperately trying not to lift off the couch. “Slow, you’re good, you’re doing so good.” 

Everything in you wants to push yourself further, to say fuck it and just suck him down your throat and bury your nose in that delicious little patch of hair at his base, but you won’t. He wants it slow, and you’re not even supposed to be getting him off. You’re proving a point. 

“Geez,” Clark says. He seems to be grateful for the lull in your practice as you try to get a hold of yourself. “I don’t think anyone’s ever gotten… that far.” 

Stupid Clark and his mouth. Each time you do this you tell yourself you cannot be getting yourself off while you suck his dick, but the heel of your foot always ends up pressed against your crotch. Your foot drags underneath you as you try to stealthily slide it to where you need it most. He hasn’t caught you doing this before, or at least he hasn’t said anything about it previously. Your eyes flutter again as the heel of your foot finally presses to your core, and your fingers press into his thighs. It feels like just enough to keep you satisfied until you’re done here and can go back to your room to fuck yourself properly. 

Your breath finally evens out as much as it can with over half of Clark in your throat and he rubs your head gently, telling you again that you’re doing well. 

“So good, you’re getting further everytime,” he sighs faintly. His head is tilted down to look at you while his hand rests on his belly. “Wish I could repay you for this in some way. Mmh–”

A hot rush crawls across your cheeks as Clark says that. He has mentioned “repaying” you once or twice, but it’s not… something you can allow. Sucking his dick is one thing, spreading your legs for him is another. It can’t go farther than it has, not when he’s still so freshly out of a relationship, so you don’t reply. You keep your mouth full of him and just enjoy the weight of his thick cock in your mouth, let it drown out the noise of what this could mean, or accidentally lead to, and focus on him. 

—

The normalcy after these practice sessions used to feel comfortable and normal. At some point last week though, Clark had kissed the top of your head before he had ducked out of the bathroom and gone to bed. He had said “good night,” and pressed a kiss to the top of your head as you brushed your teeth. And you just had to stand there, foamy mouthed from toothpaste and throat still raw from his dick, and accept that this is what you’ve created. 

And it isn’t going away.

Clark isn’t home a lot of the time still, though you do know he has time off coming up. You’re kind of banking on him not being home during that time too, maybe going back to see his parents in Smallville, and leaving you alone. The fact that Clark is so easily affectionate with you is starting to make you scared. All at once you want to suck his dick as far down your throat as you can, but also you’re desperately trying to pull away from him. It’s terrifying that this big man is suddenly under your thumb, silently whining for more even though he never says anything at all. Is it you that’s needy, or is it him? You don’t know. This isn’t worth figuring out, you’re roommates that experiment with his huge body. It’s fine. 

Everything about this would be fine if he wasn’t in a long term relationship just seven months ago. You might even be willing to break the roommate rule of “absolutely no fucking.” The idea that you could be Clark’s rebound is something weirdly scary, preventing you from letting yourself admit that you might have a crush on him. Putting any feelings into this only sets the rug under your feet, allowing a chance for it to be pulled right out. Fumbling Clark after seeing his polite boy attitude and sucking on the anaconda in his pants would feel like… like you don’t know. Every time you think about it you feel dumber. 

What you do know about Clark and Lois Lane is scarce. You know that they broke up amicably, that they were together for almost a year, and that they’re managing to maintain a friendship. Clark has previously said that a lot of their friendship is solely so Jimmy doesn’t feel awkward and so things don’t get ugly at work. But if he isn’t talking about her more than this, then what is being left unsaid? 

You don’t want to care, but can you help it?

Something seriously must have been wrong with Clark for things to go wrong. The hurt on his face the first time he mentioned her told you that it was him that definitely screwed things fully over. You can’t imagine what, though. Clark doesn’t seem very argumentative from what you can tell, and with how quiet he gets about the breakup you can’t imagine that he cheated. Did he have some evil alter-ego that ruined everything? In all the safety you feel in Clark and his ways and his energy, something feels like it’s squirreled away. It must be Lois, is what you’ve concluded with. 

Not that it should matter. 

It shouldn’t pop into your mind ever. You shouldn’t wonder if he’s thinking of her when his eyes are closed and you’re massaging his dick in your mouth, you shouldn’t wonder if he wishes she was there when he opens his eyes to look down at you, and you definitely shouldn’t wonder if he ever called her baby. He’s never called you baby. Only your name. (is Clark a “baby” guy?)

This wondrous jealousy only festers into something uglier as Clark’s week off approaches. He keeps talking about how much he feels like he’ll miss work and his friends. You know he loves his job, but that’s where he sees Lois. You’re frustrated with him and yourself at the same time. It feels like you’re upset that he has another best friend, not even that there’s another woman but just the idea of him missing someone else is overwhelming. He isn’t even yours. You have the possessiveness of a petulant child, though you know that Clark is so much more than a toy you don’t want to share. He’s a friend. What would the loss of Clark feel like now? After you’ve lived with him, experienced him, and found yourself accustomed to his presence in so many ways, how could you survive the loss of a friend and somewhat-lover like him? 

—

It’s making you push him away.

You don’t realize it at first since he’s out of the house a fair bit still, but you’re not acting on your wants anymore. The amount of time you spend in your room when he’s home isn’t just noticeable, it’s agitating him. He keeps knocking whenever he gets home from work, or from going out with Jimmy, and asking if you’re okay. You keep telling him yes, you’re busy, you’re on the phone. So long as you’re too busy to pay attention to him, you don’t have to look at him. Even if you are thinking of him the whole time you’re laying in bed, aching to have him in your mouth again. 

Of course, you could just talk to him. You could sit him down and set boundaries for this weird thing you have. But then there’s more questions. It never ends. 

If he were over Lois, you aren’t prepared to take on a relationship. You’re terrified of the idea that Clark might want you to be his something and then there’s a whole other world of problems that could come with that. Dating your roommate is a terrible idea.

If he weren’t over Lois though, and you are just a rebound, then… what? Maybe you’d cry, feel angry, and tell him that you’re never sucking his dick again. Well, you don’t want that either. You do want to keep sucking his dick. But you don’t want to be his rebound. 

You wallow in your room for hours, listening to him as he comes home and leaves again and again. There is no reassurance for your indecisiveness, only guilt for avoiding him for so long. 

Clark is really hurting over this. He hasn’t told you, obviously, since you haven’t spoken to him yet this week, but he keeps asking if you need anything through the barrier of your bedroom door. The times you’ve left your room while he’s home he hasn’t said much, just stared at you with this look of “what did i do?” And the apartment is so annoyingly clean. Never a dish in the sink, never a speck of dust on the sidetables, and the shower is spick and span. It only serves as a reminder of what you’re pushing away. It hurts so much you wonder if you’re really even protecting yourself from harm.

—

Friday, the day before his time off begins, you decide to slink out of your hole of guilt and jealousy. 

It only took a full week of neglecting all of your roommate duties, showing up to your job with only half your brain in your head, and completely ignoring Clark, to realize that ignorance is not bliss. Clark is too nice to hurt like this, and you don’t want to screw up your friendship with him just because you’re scared that you’ll be a rebound. You knew what you were getting into when you offered to put him in your mouth, consciously or not. Clark wasn’t a stranger with a history you didn’t know about, you knew. It’s time to face the music and let this mess ride.

So you decide on starting dinner a little earlier. It’s Friday and you know he might be tired, and he’ll be hungry. God can that man eat.

You pull out the frozen dumplings from the freezer at around 5pm. He gets off work around 5ish usually, so hopefully by the time he’s home you’ll have your “i’m sorry clark” meal ready for him. He’s been in love with these lately and you can tell. The packaging has been filling up the garbage for the past month because each bag only has “approximately 22” per bag, and Clark can eat the whole bag if he wants. It used to baffle you, but after seeing what he looks like beneath his clothing, it’s no longer confusing. His body puts that food away good. 

The bag turns out to be about three quarters of the way full,which should be enough, so you pour in all the dumplings. Hot water scalds your forearm for a moment when they splash in, but it only hurts for a second. You can’t believe you’re doing this anyways. Clark won’t be mad at you, but he’ll want to talk about stuff. There’s no game plan for his questions, you’ll just answer honestly and hope that he’ll be able to look at you the same.

A bubbling noise is the only sound in the whole apartment as you cook. You end up boiling some vegetables and microwaving some fried rice that Clark must have made while you were hate-hibernating. The dumplings dance in the bubbles of the boiling water as you watch them. It smells good in the kitchen, something that would normally cause you to be hungry, but right now you just feel nervous. You’re either about to lose the dick of your life, or the friend of your life, or maybe both. 

But there’s no time to overthink.

Clark comes stumbling through the door at 5:10, a surprisingly early showup considering he typically misses his bus. 

It doesn’t seem like he realizes you’re out of your room at first. You listen to the soft sound of him slipping off his work shoes, hanging up his shoulder bag on the hook, and slipping his ancient laptop out to put away in his room. He’s breathing a little heavily but his steps are still gentle, like he’s afraid of being too noisy. 

Finally, he steps into the main part of the apartment, and you turn to face him.

He looks surprised to see you, but he also looks… like Clark. Not even Clark, but clark, with a lowercase c. The guy looks exhausted, not like bags under his eyes tired, but the-life-has-been-sucked-out-of-him tired. Dead behind the eyes. And he’s still so handsome. 

Usually Clark wears a suit to work, with ties varying in plain colours. He says that it’s important to him to feel professional and “in uniform.” He’s super anal about this uniform too, you swear he’s the only man you’ve ever seen iron his clothes. But today, he’s a little more casual. There’s still a dress shirt and a tie, but rather than a suit jacket, he’s opted for a dark grey sweater vest. Not like a dorky one, but a loose one that hangs on his frame enough to conceal his hugeness yet exemplify it at the same time. He looks cute, but hurt. 

“Hey,” he says. It isn’t all the way normal, slightly hesitant. You give him a smile that feels weird. The dumplings are sitting on a big plate behind you, the sauce packet laying beside it on the countertop. “You’re feeling better I guess?”

You nod. Clark nods, placing his laptop on the dining room table. 

“You wanna eat dinner together?”  He asks as he slips into his designated seat. You nod again, and there’s the fond smile you’ve been missing. Clark’s cheeks push up his face, his eyes squinting up, and those dimples. God, he makes everything in you a conflicted mess. 

—

Dinner is quiet. Clark takes his time eating all but five dumplings on the plate, leaving them for you, and then scarfs down the rice and veggies. He seems really happy to be sitting with you again, but there’s still a certain amount of mystery in his eyes. You can’t bring yourself to eat, too afraid that the mystery you’re seeing behind his eyes is the same one you’re trying to solve. 

He’s zoning out, staring at his plate, when you speak. 

“Sorry I um… was like that, for a bit,” you say stiltedly. You’re kind of hoping he just lets this go and also doesn’t want to think about it. This could be so easy if neither of you thought about it.

Clark looks up, almost alarmedly, and shakes his head. “What? No– no I don’t, it’s fine that you needed a bit. We all get into slumps sometimes,” he reassures quickly. His hand is fidgeting with his napkin, scrumpling the paper up in his big palm. “I’m not like this,” he gestures around his tired face, “because of that. I’m glad you’re feeling better, honest.”

Clark swallows the saliva in his mouth and breathes deep. His chest fills, then releases, and his fingers start to tear at the edges of the napkin.

“It’s Lois, at work,” he admits.

Oh. Your jaw clenches but you try to look like any normal concerned friend would rather than a jealous roommate whose mouth he occasionally fucks. 

“I don’t like talking about her,” he prefaces, “because I think she knows too much about me. I was really, really, in love with her. Like spectacularly in love, and so I just was vulnerable all the time and she knows everything about me ever. And it was fine when we were together but…” He turns his head to the side, raising his arm to rest his cheek in his hand. “But now we aren’t together. And she still knows everything about me. And she still doesn’t love me.”

Again, Clark never talks about her. All you previously knew, was that they were together, and now they were not, and that they are co-workers still. You probably could have figured that Clark is the type to fall hard and fast considering everything about him, but now it’s coming from the horse’s mouth. 

“She just keeps talking to me, y’know? And she just knows me. The things she says, the inside jokes, the knowing looks,” he shakes his head, sighing again. “Lois knows me, but she never made me feel seen. I saw her and it was like cupid had struck me or whatever, but when she saw me she just saw me. I just wish someone could see me, like how I saw her.”

His arm falls back down to rest on the table and he turns his face back to you. Clark looks significantly less dead inside now but more vulnerable than ever.

“I think I just need to sleep this off, right? I have the next week off so I won’t have to feel her eyes on me for a bit,” he decides. You feel bad for not saying anything but you’re honestly speechless. He’s just resolved your insecurities about his ex without even knowing you were insecure in the first place. “You’ll probably be the only one I see,” he says.

—

He told you to leave the dishes from dinner in the sink, and that he’ll do them when he gets up tomorrow morning, but you need to do something with your hands. You’re not shaking, or really feeling anything in particular, but your problem was just… resolved. It’s no longer an anxiety that Clark might be hanging on to Lois. If anything, it seems like he’s tired of being around his ex constantly. 

The soap from the dishes rings up around your wrists as you scrub the plates. It’s thrilling to know you’re not really a rebound, but things are still somewhat in the air. You should have brought it up at dinner, you should have asked him if there’s boundaries and rules that you two should be talking about, but you didn’t. He looked too comfortable, finally opening up to you after he’d stuffed himself full of dumplings, maybe subconsciously you didn’t want to ruin his moment of vulnerability. 

You ponder on it as you scrub each dish, spoon, and fork. There’s nowhere you really want to, or don’t want to, take this. A serious relationship doesn’t sound like a good idea, but an idea of what this is overall would surely alleviate the headache you and him have created. You’re sure he feels the same way, you know he must. 

The last fork is placed in the drying rack, and then you scrub around the edge of the sink and stove, then wring out the sponge of soapy water. And then you turn to the direction of Clark’s door. He had showered after dinner, then scampered into his room. You didn’t turn around just in case he was only wearing a towel. No distractions right now, focus.

Last month you would have knocked on his door, y’know, before you knew what he looked like naked. You’re pretty far past that now, so tonight you just creak open his room.

Your eyes find him before your mouth gets the chance to open.

Clark’s bed is to the side of his room that’s closer to the window. It’s a double size bed, and you’re pretty sure his feet usually hang off the end if he stretches out fully. His bedside lamp isn’t on for once, and his book is abandoned on the floor. 

Clark is placed in the center of his bed, facedown. His knees are drawn up and one of his pillows is folded in half and shoved beneath his lower abdomen, where he rocks into the material with shaky thrusts of his hips.

But you can’t focus on that, it’s not the focus right now.

The focus right now is that one of Clark’s thick arms is reached back, sprawling down his muscular back, guiding his fingers into himself. He’s stretched out on two of his fingers right now, but it looks like a third is what he wants. His pointer finger keeps bending, trying to find its way into him, but he just isn’t ready yet. 

You should speak up, or maybe close the door quietly and leave him to get himself off. You can’t. 

It’s entrancing. You had no clue that Clark was into this, he never mentioned it. Yes he was always more submissive but you didn’t know the extent of it.

His fingers push particularly deep and he whimpers, hips rutting so his cock (assumedly) rubs against the soft material of his pillow. Pervertedly, you wish there was more light in this room. You want to see how the soft rim of his asshole stretches around his fingers, want to see the sweat that’s surely rolling down the indent of his back, and you also really, really, want to be the person whose fingers are in him. Clark’s pace is slow, but he’s pushing pretty deep into himself. The flex of his wrist is fluid and you can tell he’s curling his fingers, searching for the right spot.

You can’t leave the room, not yet. You wonder if this is how he usually gets off, if this is normal. 

Your eyes leave the sight of his pretty ass for one second, glancing to the windowsill to the right of him. There’s a pretty sizable bottle of lube placed there, and it’s only half full. Okay, maybe this is how he usually gets off. 

Clark is totally lost in the feeling of his fingers. He seems to find the right spot inside himself and begins to thrust his fingers faster, curling them harder. You’re familiar with his moans by now, but it’s so much hotter tonight with how he keeps trying to hold back. His hips rut into the pillow desperately, the seesaw of pleasure between his fingers and the pillow is driving him wild. Unfortunately you can only see the mess of curls on his head since his face is buried in the mattress. 

His fingers continue to push into his hole eagerly, each thrust forcing his hips to jump forward into the pillow. You know how close he is just off his sounds, and you aren’t wrong. Clark suddenly jams his fingers into himself as far as he can and then begins to hump the pillow wildly as he comes onto the material. It’s like he’s purposefully overstimulating himself, panting and groaning, and… whining. He’s always whiny, but this breathiness is different. He’s puffing out a word, your name, as he humps into his pillow and then back against his fingers. 

Fuck. 

Now is when you back out, shutting his door quieter than you opened it, and then rushing back to your room.

Clark is fucking himself to the thought of you. He looked so miserably good as he fucked himself on his fingers, his pretty cheeks spread to make room for those big hands that have been in your hair time and time again. He let his cock be neglected on purpose, poor boy. Maybe he was thinking about you beneath him, stroking it, or maybe he was thinking about you behind him, thrusting into his sensitive hole. Oh god, oh god. 

You’re laying flat on your back in your bed when you hear his door creak open. He has no clue you saw what he was doing. The tap in the bathroom runs as he washes his hands and you listen to his shaky steps when he makes his way back to his room and shuts the door again.

In your mind, the roommate rule was about not fucking Clark, that being Clark not being in you. It never crossed your mind that you might want to be the one in him.

—

Getting to sleep was hard, but getting up is almost harder.

The last conversation Clark had with you last night was about how he wanted to feel seen, and you’ve definitely seen him now. 

Yup. Seen him with his fingers knuckle deep in his butt. Great. It will be very easy to look him in the face today.

You manage to get out of bed at around 10am, hoping that Clark is out of the house. The apartment is quiet when you cautiously step out into the main room. You’re safe. Safe from having to face Clark who fucks his butt and thinks of you. Clark who has unleashed a new worm in your brain, alongside the one already in there that begs you to suck him off all the time. 

Clark who is walking through the front door right now, not taking his shoes off because his arms are full with two very full, paper, grocery bags. 

There’s no fucking breathing room for you in this apartment. Shit, he’s right there, he’s right there and you know what he did.

“Hey, you’re up!” Clark says cheerfully. He places the grocery bags on the kitchen counter, turning his back to you. “The early bird catches the worm, you know.”

He says… something after that about french toast, or breakfast. Something vaguely breakfast related. You don’t know, you can’t focus because Clark is wearing shorts today. Not lazy basketball shorts, or cargo shorts, but athletic shorts. Maybe a 5 inch inseam, but they look like a 4 inch inseam on him, and they’re hugging his ass. They’re not meant to hug his ass, but the fabric can’t really contain it all. 

He turns.

“You hungry?”

Clark’s wearing a plain grey tee, the printing is rubbed off on it. Did he run to the store? There’s sweat under his boobs, he has fucking underboob sweat stains. You start feeling dizzy and there’s a weird pull in your pussy, like an ache that’s guiding you. 

It’s been a shitty week. It’s been a shitty week of being separated from him, and not having him under you and in your mouth, and wondering if he’s secretly in love with his ex. And now all you want is to fuck him stupid, especially after seeing what he was doing last night.

Clark tilts his head at you. “Hello? Earth to–”

“Go to your room and take your clothes off.”

The words themselves are demanding, but your voice is strained. A feeling like stress is balled up in your chest and you’re worried it’s not making you as authoritative as you can be. But Clark is who he is, and he loves to lay down and take it deep down, so he listens.

The grocery bags are abandoned on the counter as he quickly walks to his room, mumbling something like “yes ma’am,” under his breath as he goes. 

You watch from the kitchen, into his open bedroom door, as he shuts his curtains and then starts to strip. His shirt is first, tossed onto the floor, and then his slutty little shorts follow, being tugged down at the same time his boxers are. He isn’t hard yet, but he’s still massive.

Clark looks at you as he sits down on his bed, thighs a little bit apart. His chest is puffing a little rapidly. You’re sure you’ve taken him off guard, but he’s not saying no. He looks deliciously willing.

With confident anxiousness you stalk toward him. The door is shut with your foot as you eagerly approach him, shoving your own pajama bottoms down to leave them in a heap. You’re down to your undies in a moment, just that and your sleepshirt. 

“I want you on your back,” you say firmly. Clark’s eyes go wide behind his glasses and he nods, making himself comfortable in the center of his bed. 

You walk around the right side of his bed, then grab the pillow that he was using last night. If you were to look to your left you’d see the stained pillowcase in the laundry bin there. Holding the bare pillow, you kneel on the bed and awkwardly crawl to the space between his legs.

“Wanna try something,” is how you preface this. Your hand comes down, touching the side of his hip and tapping it. He lifts up right away, letting you place the pillow beneath his lower back and the top of his bum. 

He’s looking up at you with the same nervousness you saw the first time you experimented with him. Clark’s eyes are curious as he watches you position him, but he’s pliant like always. It doesn’t matter to him what happens here, he knows he can trust you to make him feel good. So far, for him, this is fairly familiar territory.

That changes quickly.

You lean down and start to press kisses from the tip of his cock downward, lower and lower, until you’re at his balls. Gingerly, you press kisses to them. He’s extremely sensitive there and you don’t want to hurt him, but they’re in your way. One hand reaches to stroke him gently while the other lifts his balls up and out of the way. He tenses at this, a little nervous about what you’re doing, but then you begin to dot kisses along his inner thighs.

“Looked so nice in your shorts,” you say quietly, still stroking him at an easy pace. Your lips start to press more lingering kisses into the hair that grows thicker toward his most sensitive area. “You’ve got such a nice butt, Clark. You know that?”

You pull back after saying that, just enough to catch the nervous look on his face. The hand that was jerking him comes off his cock, then slides along his hipbone, down his leg, and pushes his thighs further apart.

Then, you lay your eyes on his hole. It still looks a little tender from last night, when he was furiously fingering himself to the thought of you doing this exactly. You watch as his pucker tightens shyly, and he gasps. Your name falls off his lips again. You press another kiss to his inner thigh, this time even closer to his hole.

“I saw you last night,” you confess. Clark is breathing so heavily now and his body is growing hotter with shame. A stutter fails to help him explain himself, he doesn’t know what to say. 

“I watched you,” you continue, “and I really liked what I saw. I want to try, Clark,” you admit. Your own chest is heaving with nervousness too. The pair of you are just wrecks over the idea of you in him, indulging in the perversions the both of you yearn for. 

“Yes,” Clark breathes out, voice almost cracking.

You didn’t even have to ask. He’s already said yes.

Clark reaches over the side of the bed, opening his bedside drawer and grabbing the lube. He extends the bottle out to you and you take it easily. His legs prop up in a better position, allowing even easier access to himself. 

The first finger slides in with no resistance. You don’t know how late it was last night when you ended up walking in on him fucking himself. It took you a long time to do the dishes since you were so busy pondering what the pair of you talked about, so it might have been less than 12 hours since something was last inside him. It makes it feel even more natural to be doing this.

You make yourself comfortable between his legs, kneeling so that your legs won’t fall asleep under you, and so that you’ll be able to see his face. His eyes are closed tightly shut as he takes in the feeling of your finger opening him up, sweat starting to sprout beneath the hair on his chest.

“Good, does that feel good?” You ask. Clark nods, one of his hands balled into a fist as the other one lays flat, palm up, and twitching slightly.

His hole is desperate around your digit, so warm and eager as it sucks you in over and over again. He already feels like he’s ready for more and you test it, pressing your ring finger to his hole when your middle finger slides out enough. Clark nods eagerly, a whimper catching in his throat.

“More, need more please?” He asks sweetly.

You don’t blame him, you’re sure that your fingers are not comparable to the size of his fingers at all. You could probably fit your fist in there if he prepped himself with four of his own fingers. 

“It’s so easy to open you up, Clark,” you tease softly. His chest huffs with an embarrassed laugh, but then his brows scrunch again as you start to curl your fingers inside him. “Were you just prepping for me last night? Is that why you were fucking yourself?

He nods first, then shakes his head.

“N-no,” he manages. “I was trying to prep myself for a–nnh, there, there please!” He interrupts himself, letting his hips buck back into your fingers. “I was trying to prep myself for my toy.”

A thrill is sent up your spine at that. A toy, Clark has a toy. 

“I just came too fast, I came too fast cause I was thinking about you,” he keeps rambling, both hands balling into fists now as he tries to keep himself in his mind. “Been wanting this, but I wasn’t sure if you’d… be a fan.”

God he’s so cute, you’re so glad you’re the one fucking him.

“Where’s your toy?” You decide to ask. He motions to the drawer that he grabbed the lube from and you hum. “Go on and get it then. I don’t think my fingers are big enough for you.” 

It takes him a couple tries to actually get a grip on the toy. His fingers keep slipping off since you purposefully curl your fingers extra deep each time he actually manages to grab it. You think about teasingly apologizing, but you figure he’s embarrassed enough as is. 

The toy Clark has isn’t that big, not in comparison to himself. It’s a plain, traditional, dildo. The skin tone of it is strikingly similar to your own, but that’s probably just coincidence. Its girth isn’t much more than what he was taking last night. He holds it out to you, but you hesitate, slowing your fingers a moment.

His cock looks so neglected as it lays hard on his belly. You kind of miss it.

“Can you prep yourself now?” You ask, letting your fingers slip out of him. “It’ll be faster if you use your bigger fingers, I think.” Clark looks surprised but then drops the toy, grabbing the bottle of lube right away. He’s so sweetly obedient to you all the time.

Clark fingers himself with ease, reaching underneath his thigh so he can stuff his hole while your mouth wraps around his cock. The familiar ache in your jaw feels so much better than usual as you try to swallow down as much as you can. You’ve lost a week's worth of progress, but you’re still able to take him farther than you could in the beginning. 

He works himself quickly but gently, eagerly upping himself to four of his thick digits as soon as he feels ready. You pull off once you feel him twitching a little too much, knowing that you don’t want him to come just yet.

His arm crosses his body as he reaches for the toy, his hole still stuffed on his own fingers while he holds up the toy and looks at you pleadingly. 

“You’re ready?” You ask carefully. It’s not like you’ve done this a lot, and you don’t want this to go wrong.

Clark nods, pushing the toy closer to your hand, and whining “please?”

Willingly, you take the toy and then generously lube it up. Clark’s fingers remain in his hole until you have the toy lined up, ready to switch it in. His  fingers make a nasty little noise as they slip out of his hole, but you can’t enjoy it for long.

He takes the toy so quickly, his hole sucking it in as his back arches off the bed a little. A guttural groan is torn from his chest as he finally gets the fill he’s been waiting for since last night. 

You hold it still in him, waiting for him to feel ready for this. You’re sure he could take it rough, but you also don’t want him to come right away. This is something he’s been wanting and so you want to make sure it was worth all those fantasies he probably thought up.

“You want me to start?” you ask.

His face is totally lax, his mouth open as breaths puff out, and his eyes are rolled back under his eyelids. “Y-yep, start, please start,” he gasps.

Beginning is easy. You start at a slow pace, easing the thick toy in and out at a speed which has him squirming. There’s no resistance from him, despite how tight he is around the toy, his body is completely open and ready. He’s so into this his hands are shaking at his sides. Slowly, you begin to increase your pace and start to snap your wrist a little harder. It’s important that you don’t give yourself an arm cramp early if you want to make this as good as you’re imagining. Clark seems more receptive to this pace, nodding his head and letting his eyes open a little more, searching for you. 

“L-like that,” he nods encouragingly.

His glasses are starting to slide up his face and he shoves them back down a little, almost like he’s trying to distract himself , and it makes you smile. Cute boy, cute, cute, boy. 

“You’re smiling at me,” he says nervously. You nod. “Cause I’m looking at you,” you respond teasingly.

Things feel easy again now, like you really are just two roommates that are fucking around. God, god, it’s just him and you, and you’re fucking, and it’s so hot. It’s so hot watching him writhe while you fuck him, unable to control the way his breathing stutters and his mouth parts with silent gasps.

“Y-yeah,” he smiles back, eyes crossing a little, “you see me.”

The implication of his words, the words that feel too reminiscent of last night, feel heavy for a moment. But you can’t let that distract you from what you’re doing right now. Think later, fuck him now. You nod along with his words.

“I see you, I see you baby,” you say encouragingly. His hips keep lifting off the bed, his eyes fluttering and rolling back at the same time. Clark is so damn close and you aren’t even touching him. The tip of his cock is flooding precome now, all over the soft fuzz of his belly, and you want to lick it up. The only thing keeping your lips from wrapping around his cock is the fact that it might be too much for him. He looks starstruck whenever you catch his eyes. You can feel the tightening pressure of his hole as he clenches down on the toy, making it harder and harder to thrust it in and out of him. Tears blur at the corner of his eyes as he begins to try to speak. His lips are moving, but only gasps of air come out. His hips tilt higher.

“Doing so good, you look so nice like this,” you whisper more to yourself than him. The weight of his cock can’t stop the crazy twitch it does, the shaft jumping off his tummy. It almost sounds like he’s choking on air as he fists the sheets in his hands. 

“Y-yours,” he finally manages to talk. “Your cock, y-yours to see. I’m yours t-to have, I need this– I want you to see me.” 

You’re seeing him alright. It’s hard to ignore any part of him, his big body spread out over the bed as he thrashes in pleasure. It’s unusual how long he’s lasting, but he might just be holding back. Your eyes focus on the space between his legs, where his balls sit and his asshole grips onto the toy. The ring of his hole stretches around the girth of the dildo so prettily, like it was just made to take it, like it was made for you to see it. His confession only spurs you on to continue fucking his hole at the same pace, but with harder movements. The tips of your fingers push into the plush of his cheeks as you jam the toy into him over and over, the movement rough but clearly exactly what he needed. 

“Keep looking, please keep looking at me,” Clark begs. You don’t meet his eyes, you couldn’t if you tried. His glasses are fogged up and crooked, shielding his gaze. Instead you keep your eyes on his hole and his dick, exactly where he wants you to look. Clark’s thighs tremble as his hips lift up higher than ever before again and you ignore the cramp in your forearm as you follow his movements. He keeps pushing higher and higher, almost like he’s looking for friction on his dick that he won’t find.

Then, as his hips are fully extended upwards and his cock is pointed down his abdomen, Clark begins to come. Untouched, with nothing but the toy you’re pistoning into his hole, he starts to shoot his load everywhere. His orgasm starts so strongly that his come completely misses his tummy and chest and instead shoots onto his own face. You watch as some of it gets into his own mouth while he’s panting, and then you watch as he swallows it down without hesitating. He isn’t slowing down though, his hips are attempting to jam back into your still-in-shock hand as it holds the toy still. Come spills out of his cock in thick spurts, coating first his cheeks and chin, then stuttering down to his chest and belly. He isn’t coated in it, but he looks like a glazed donut by the time his orgasm subsides. 

Clark’s hips fall down into the bed heavily once he’s done. It’s beautiful, he’s made the most perverted, disgusting, mess of himself. He came off how good the toy in his ass felt, how good you fucked it into him, and now he’s covered in his own come and whimpering like it’s taking effort to breathe. 

“Ah g-gosh,” he mutters as he looks down. You lick your lips, eyes staring at his glistening chest.

This must be how guys feel. This must be why titty comeshots are so popular in porn.

Clark’s tits are sitting so prettily on his chest, slick with his come, and shining in the light coming through the crack in the curtains. You want to lean down and lick it all off of him, but also you have other plans. 

You’ve basically broken the roommate rule, right? You fucked him, now you can release this hold you have on yourself. 

“Clark,” you breathe. His eyes manage to focus on yours, pinching slightly when he feels you release the toy but leave it in him. Your hands rip your shirt off your body, then you awkwardly pull down your undies as you start to crawl up his body, higher and higher. You fit one leg so your knee is almost tucked into his armpit, and the other knee is on top of the meat of his bicep, angling yourself perfectly above his tit.

Your chest is kind of in the way of viewing Clark’s face, but you can see that his eyebrows are pretty high on his head now.

“Just… gonna use you for a second,” you explain before seating your cunt on his tit. 

The fat of it is so soft on your core and you instantly start to rut your hips back and forth, using the come left on his breast as lubricant. It wouldn’t typically be a good place to hump, not rigid enough, but you’re so desperate for him right now that it doesn’t matter. You love his tits so much, love seeing how his dress shirt strains over them, you loved the sight of his underboob sweat earlier, and you love how sensitive they are. His nipple grows harder as your slit grinds up against it, almost nudging against your clit. 

One of your hands reaches down and slips into his hair, winding the curls around your finger as you use his head to anchor your movements. You’re so close already, overly worked up from going all this time without getting anything from him. No more hesitation, no more not using his huge body to get your own. He likes it, you know he likes it.

Your hips switch angles, grinding down harder on the downstroke of your humps so his nipple does finally start to rub your clit. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Clark gasps, staring up at you. He probably can’t even see your face, but he sounds just as breathless as you feel. “You’re so beautiful, please come on me.”

It’s all you need, apparently, for Clark to call you beautiful. Your body flushes with heat from your feet all the way up your neck, choking you for breath as you start to shake on top of him. His nipple sits right by your clit, hardest you’ve ever felt it, and you rub into it as you ride out your high. One of Clark’s hands is on your thigh, rubbing it soothingly as he watches you fall apart on top of him.

It takes you at least a minute to catch your breath, but even then your breaths are still choppy and your eyes are dazed. Clark manages to coax you down to lay beside him, but is careful not to get any more come on you than there already is. 

“Uh,” he says, awkwardly reaching down to pull the tip of the dildo out of himself. 

You look down at his body, which is now somewhat covered in your come and his mostly dried come, and stifle a laugh. 

“You should shower,” you tell him teasingly. “You’re kinda dirty right now.”

“Probably,” he replies, frowning down at himself. Clark doesn’t make any move to get up though. Instead he seems a little lost in thought. His hand reaches to touch yours where it lays, but then falls short about an inch.

“If I ask you to shower will you promise me that you’ll never make me go a week without you again?” Clark asks suddenly.

A laugh pulls itself properly from you this time, your head falling sideways to look at him. 

“You better not be falling in love with me,” you chide jokingly. Clark smiles, shaking his head.

“I’m not! I’m not, okay?” He replies playfully. “I just like seeing you.” 

What a dork. Good thing you like seeing him too. 

>///<

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[koreluvsspring]

suckable

summary: a routine fire alarm inspection leads into you proving to clark that he does have a suckable dick (kinda.)

tags: 18+, smut, roommate!clark, established friendship, f!reader, i broke clois up (sorry,) clark is older than reader (non-specific,) reader doesn't know clark is superman, fire alarm inspections, clark kent is a DORK, reader just barely realizes she has a crush on clark, blowjob, messy blowjob, big dick!clark, big boobs!clark, big arms!clark, sub!clark, size difference (sorta?), m!nipple play, reader swallows but there's also kind of a facial, begging for like two seconds, sweet!clark, aaannd he picks reader up one time.

a/n: yayy my first clark fic !!! (facedown drooling twitching)

wc: 4.5k, reread once by my eyes

my masterlist - my askbox - this fic is available on my ao3 !!

You’ve been roommates with Clark for approximately… seven months. 

It’s been great really. No complaints, especially since he’s never home long enough to be annoying. He does the dishes, he takes the trash and recycling down every Thursday, and he usually makes enough food that there’s leftovers for your lunches the next day. The friendship between you two is easy, but not intimate. Clark, to you, is personable, but not personal.

You do know that he moved in with you after moving out with his ex girlfriend, and that the relationship ended as amicably as possible for “professional reasons.” Clark also works at the Daily Planet and being a writer may or may not be why he needs a roommate in his thirties. He grew up somewhere not Metropolis to your knowledge and he goes back home usually one weekend a month. 

And that’s it. That’s all you know about your roommate of seven months. It’s kind of nice to live with a dependable man, especially when he’s not just kind but also sort of intimidating. Your last roommate was a young woman around your age, and though she was fun, you were always a little worried about the weird neighbor down the hall. He really liked talking to you when you’d take the recycling down, or god forbid, when you’d have to do your laundry in the basement of your building. As soon as Clark found out about that he made a point to start taking the trash down for you and coming with you to do your laundry. The weirdo neighbor backed off pretty quickly when you began walking around with a 6’4 grown man who gave him the stink eye any chance he got. 

Obviously you’d rather be living alone, or with a romantic partner, but neither of those things seem like they’re in your cards at this point. Clark is a good alternative. You get plenty of alone time when you have a day off since Clark is at work until five most days, and on top of that sometimes he goes out with his friends. Alternatively to the time you get to spend alone, you also get to feel just a smidge safer at night. Metropolis is nowhere near as dangerous as Gotham is, at least not at night, but you can never be totally sure. Superman can handle whatever huge creature is toppling buildings over, but you can’t really call Superman if there’s someone trying to break into your apartment. You can call Clark though, or rather, knock on his door. Usually.

Tonight Clark is out. He’s actually out a lot later than usual, which is strange. He said something vague this morning about having to go to a meeting later tonight with his friends after work and he’d “be back aroumd smghmsgh.” His voice muffled at the end of his sentence because he had stuffed a cinnamon swirl eggo in his mouth. Helpful! 

Around ten you finally peel yourself off the couch. It feels strange to get ready for bed without Clark being around. You aren’t dependent on him, but like, it’s routine by now. You brush your teeth, he brushes his teeth, and then you both go to bed. Sometimes he showers, but that’s not your business to think about. At all. Clark is your friend and roommate. Your kind, dependable, tall, handsome, buff, protective, roommate. You walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, telling yourself you aren’t prolonging the time before you get ready for bed sans-Clark.

The water pools in the sink as you run the tap for a moment before sticking your glass under. It fills a little too quickly. You chug it, pour more water in the glass, then let your eyes flit to the overhead cupboards. A notice is taped to one of them, one which you taped up. 

NOTICE: Fire alarm inspection

Dear valued tenants,

This coming Saturday the MFD (Metropolis Fire Department) will be entering your apartments to test your fire alarms. These tests will happen between 8am-11am. If you are unable to be present this Saturday please let me know by e-mail so we can rearrange a time. 

Thanks.

Ugh. Your landlord is a nice person but is it necessary to start fire alarm testing at 8am on a Saturday? You were kind of hoping Clark would get home early tonight so he could be the one to let the fire department in tomorrow morning, but you guess not. He’s going to end up sleeping in late if he’s not home soon, so you better set your alarm. 

— 

It’s 7:59am. And they’re already here. 

You had woken up to a strong knock on the door of your apartment that had you gasping for breath as you stumbled out of bed, throwing a more presentable shirt on. Thank God the fireman that you opened the door to looked worse for wear than you did. If you had opened the door to a sexy fireman while wearing your somewhat holey Snoopy sleepshirt, which you’ve had since middle school, you might have lit yourself on fire to test the alarm.

Now you’re sitting on the couch backwards, staring at the fireman as he stands on a ladder in the kitchen. You’re kind of wondering if the fire department needs to do this. You’re pretty sure Clark could check the fire alarm without using a ladder, which you’re tempted to tell the fireman, but he seems nice enough. It’s just early, you’re grumpy. 

“I’ve been doing this for almost a decade now,” the fireman says. You hum in an interested tone, watching as he uses a screwdriver to unscrew the panel of the fire alarm. It falls down into his other palm and he checks the batteries.

“Expired,” he says disapprovingly.

Okay fire alarm guy. 

He takes a couple batteries out of his shirt pocket and replaces the old batteries. Then he screws the panel back on. It kind of feels like watching you dad or uncle fix something, which would be sweet if you weren’t sleep deprived and annoyed that somehow this guy made his way to your fourth floor apartment before these tests were even supposed to start. 

The fireman puts his screwdriver back into his toolbelt and then looks back at you from where he’s standing on the ladder. 

“Might be loud,” is the only warning you get.

A shrill beep screeches through the apartment as he presses the “test” button on the alarm. It wakes you up all over again, making you jolt upwards. You’re close to cussing, but then you hear a different loud noise. Two loud thuds echo from behind Clark’s bedroom door.

Oh shit, he was still sleeping.

A couple more thuds sound out before Clark’s door is ripped open. There’s a wild look to him as his chest puffs anxiously.

“Fire?” He asks at the same time the fireman says “alarm works now!” Proud as ever.

No, there’s no fire. But it’s starting to get warm. 

You’ve never seen Clark straight out of bed. Typically he showers at night, after you go to bed, so that you can have the bathroom in the mornings. That means that by the time you see him each morning he’s already dressed for work, curls tamed, and he’s all put together. Right now though, he’s the least put together you’ve ever seen him.

His hair is somewhat screwed up, the curls flat on one side of his head from how he sleeps, and his glasses are a little crooked from how hastily he must have shoved them on. Clark is also shirtless, which is surprising. You kind of took Clark as the kind of man who has old fashioned cotton pajama sets considering he wears a suit to work everyday. You very much wish he was right now.

Clark is obviously a strong guy. He’s got great arms that you’ve been able to admire multiple times over the last seven months, and sometimes you’re able to see how big his chest is when his dress shirts strain just right. But right now, you’re getting a full view of everything, and he’s so, terribly, attractively, big. Clark’s arms are much bigger than you thought they were, but so is everything else. His stomach pushes against the stretchband of his pajama pants just right, making you think of the time that he had shared the fact that “Ma fed me well,” over dinner. Fuck yes she did. Thanks Ma. His stomach looks dense with strength, like he’s been bulking his whole life, and his tits… Lord. Never in your life have you ever thought that a man having tits could be attractive, but Clark Kent doesn’t seem to be able to be unattractive. They look heavy and the skin looks soft and for a split second you think about what it would be like to run your hands up his body and cup them. 

You notice that you’re staring at him, but he doesn’t. Instead, Clark seems to realize that the guy in your apartment isn’t an intruder, but is actually checking the fire alarm. He walks over quickly, and in typical Clark fashion, strikes up a conversation with this guy. He’s distracted fully, giving you more time to kind of drool over the new angle you’re getting of his arms.

Normally you wouldn’t do this. You’ve purposefully been avoiding being attracted or generally objectifying Clark no matter what because when he moved in with you he was sorely broken up over his last relationship ending. Clark was much too sweet for you to think about in that way, no matter how delicious he is to stare at. But it’s been months now, and he seems more okay, and damn it he’s shirtless and it’s 7:30 in the morning and you’re pissed! You deserve a little eye candy, no? 

You let your eyes drop back to his stomach as he stands while talking to the fireman. The profile of his tummy almost hanging over the waistband is making your whole body heat up, but then your eyes drop lower and it gets worse.

He’s not wearing underwear.

There’s literally no possible way that he’s wearing anything beneath the pajama pants. You can see the outline of what you think is morning wood, but you aren’t entirely sure. If he had a boner that big right now he wouldn’t just be casually talking to a stranger in your apartment, right? But then again, there’s no way he’s packing something that much. It wouldn’t be human to be that big soft. He must just be oblivious. Fuck, you’re perving out right now.

It’s pressing against the plaid pattern of his pants in a way that maybe is camouflaged to the poor fireman who now looks like he’s trapped in a conversation with Clark. You watch as the fireman slowly packs up his ladder and moves unsubtly toward the door in an attempt to drop a hint that Clark isn’t picking up. It, yes it, isn’t camouflaged to you though. You watch from the couch as his pants tent around it, the thickness of it pressing against his leg as he moves toward the door with the fireman. Sweat starts to form at your brow as you swallow dryly. 

Maybe his last girlfriend just couldn’t stand the hospital trips after they had sex? That’s the only plausible reason you can see someone dumping Clark. He’s suffering from the success of all those inches. 

The fireman finally shuts down the conversation Clark had started with a gentle “I have to go test other alarms now,” and slips out the door. Clark turns to you now, still clearly oblivious to the third leg he seems to be showing off.

“I totally forgot about that inspection, geez.”

You are braindead. His words don’t even seem like words anymore as you get another full frontal view of his less-than-normally-clothed body and the inside of your skull feels fuzzy. It’s too early for all of these emotions of frustration and then sudden insatiable heat. Maybe you’re getting close to ovulating or something, but Clark is triggering you badly.

“Are you hard?” You ask.

Clark instantly reaches his hands down, covering his crotch.

“What? No, I just– I just threw these on. They must be too small.” He sputters. 

Just threw those on? Your brows scrunch together in confusion. If he just threw those on before coming out of his room and he’s not wearing anything else (other than his glasses…)

“I sleep naked,” Clark admits flusteredly. Your eyes widen just as your mouth hangs slightly open in surprise. This is not something that you thought Clark would ever say, nor admit if it was the case. His ears are turning pink as his hands cover his crotch area still, though you doubt he’s actually covering all the square footage of his downstairs property. 

“I started sleeping naked when I moved away from home. It was like a freedom thing, I think.”

Oookay. Coolio. Packing that tidbit of info into your brain and saving it for later when Clark isn’t home and you have a certain something charged. You nod with your mouth still open, then swallow back the dryness on your tongue before speaking again.

“Why do you…” you start speaking but then he moves toward the couch and your voice trails off. He sits opposite you, looking a little ashamed as he shoves a pillow over his lap. “Why do you still sleep naked?”

He can’t make eye contact with you now, he’s too embarrassed. It almost seems like he never really thought about the fact it might be strange to still sleep naked, and now he has to face the music. 

“Clothes just… restrain stuff,” he admits quietly. 

Stuff.

“Stuff?” You reply. “What stuff?

He shakes his head, says your name quietly like he wishes you’d forget this. “You know what stuff. My stuff.”

This is insane. There’s no way he’s that big all the time. That’s not something you believe. 

“You’re seriously not… that’s not just morning wood or something?” 

Clark shakes his head again and seems even more embarrassed now. His fists push into the throw pillow on his lap nervously. “I’m sorry,” he says weakly. “I know it’s strange. Or scary, I’ve been called scary.”

Aw. You feel kind of bad for him amidst all your curiosity about this newfound limb on your roommate. The best comfort you can offer in this awkwardness is a shrug.

“It’s okay, Clark,” you attempt a normal voice, “it’s just a surprise.” 

He laughs quietly, thank goodness. His smile is always a ray of sunshine but right now it breaks up the insanity of the situation. “Golly, it’s a surprise to you? Imagine growing this thing,” he chuckles. Like it’s normal.

The honesty is somehow scarier than the fact that his dick is really that big. That’s just Clark’s life, he has to have that in his pants all the time, and now you have to know that he has that in his pants all the time too. What the fuck? What is this morning?

Clark finally works up the courage to look at you again, though you can still see the remnants of his flustered expression from moments before. His eyes stroll over your face and he seems to realize your befuddlement. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. You raise your head to nod, but then feel the tug of a question caught in your throat. 

“How big is it?” You ask. The tables turn again and Clark is back to being the one caught off guard. He sputters some breaths and attempts words but you shrug. “I’ve already basically seen it, Clark. I’m just curious.”

The last thing you say seems to ease him some more, as silly as it is. It’s true, you’ve basically seen the outline of the whole thing now, so he has less reason to be shy. Clark, again, nods. Then he picks the pillow up off his lap and places it on the ground beside his feet. This gives you a chance to see the way his stomach pouts out from his body while he sits, and the way his tits sit. They still look so soft, but you can’t make Clark any more uncomfortable than he already is, so you try your best to maintain eye contact.

“Eight and a half inches,” he manages to spit out. God, he sounds ashamed of it. Why is he ashamed? 

You gawk at him. “I don’t even think I could fit half of you in my mouth.”

Why did you say that? Oh my god, why did you say that? 

“That’s… fair. Nobody ever has,” Clark admits shyly. “I don’t think it’s possible.”

It sounds like a challenge. Your eyes drop back to his lap, searching for a moment until you can finally focus on the visible outline against the worn fabric of his pajamas. 

“I could try,” you suggest. Clark’s head tilts down a little as he tries to meet your eyes that are currently feasting on the sight of his lap. He starts to say “what” but you stumble out more words. “Like just to see. Not in a sex way, but in an experimental way. Just to see.”

He seems a little speechless, his mouth forming the shapes of words that don’t come out, seldom for a shocked whisper of your name. Clark swallows the saliva in his mouth and then  leans back against the couch, nodding.

“Not in a sex way,” he repeats as you slide off the couch and maneuver yourself between his legs. “Aw geez.”

Stupid cute man with a stupidly big cock. You aren’t technically breaking the “roommate rule” of don’t-fuck-your-roommate at least. You’re not fucking him, you are both just trying to see how much of Clark’s dick is humanly possible to suck. 

He lifts his hips for you as your hands reach up and slide his pants down his legs, pulling them off with little struggle. It exposes his thighs to you, the hair that feathers out from his pubic area into a softer dusting around the outer area where his dick lays. It’s too heavy to even stand up on its own, it just lays against his thigh. He’s uncut but the foreskin is pulled back slightly, exposing the deep pink of his tip and how it’s starting to drool pre-come. 

“Sorry, it’s um, been a bit. I’m a shower so don’t worry about,” he swallows nervously again, “about it getting any bigger than this.”

It is a little comforting to know you won’t have to deal with any more than you signed up for, but mostly you just want to soothe him. Clark seems so ashamed of how big he is, which isn’t totally unfamiliar. He always seems awkward in social situations, like a mega block in a world of lego bricks, but this is something you can help. You’ll prove to him that he is suckable.

But you’ll prove it in a moment. First you focus on what your mind, what’s left of it, wants to do.

You lean down and nudge your nose against the side of his cock, inhaling a little bit. He smells clean, just like the rest of him, but also a little different, a little more Clark than everywhere else. Your eyes meet his as you let your tongue loll out of your mouth and drag up his shaft, then lap at his tip as his head falls backward.

“Y-you said it wasn’t a sex thing,” he protests weakly. 

“It isn’t,” you protest. It’s not a total lie. “I’m making sure you’re as hard as possible. You have to be fully hard for me to–” “Please just put your mouth on me,” he blurts out. “Please? You wanna figure this out too, right?”

Holy needy. You weren’t really expecting Clark to be this submissive. He’s probably just desperate because, as he said, it’s been a little while, but he’s already begging. 

“Yeah,” you mumble against his tip, “yeah okay.”

He’s so much more than a mouthful. You were expecting it to be a lot, but you can’t breathe at all once his tip is fully in his mouth. Clark isn’t just long, but he’s thick too. It feels like you bit off more than you could chew, literally, and you’re just desperately swallowing around him. It’s especially hard to focus on not choking because he keeps making these little sounds and grasping at the arm of the couch. Clark clearly doesn’t want to push you at all. The hand that isn’t on the arm of the couch is gripping the couch cushion ferociously and his hips keep trying to buck up but he resists it, though just barely.

It isn’t a sex thing, it’s an experiment, you need to focus.

Your eyes slide shut as you decide to lock in, tuning out the noises and movements he’s making. Most of your focus goes into relaxing your jaw to fit more of him in. You know you’ll ache later, but it’s worth it. He’s so heavy in your mouth and in your hands as you hold him. The wetness of your mouth doesn’t seem to be enough and so you keep drooling out more and more saliva, trying to lube your throat so he’ll slide in easier, with less resistance. It doesn’t feel humanly possible, he’s completely right.

You attempt to say his name, but just gargle around his cock. He struggles back a “yeah?” and that’s when your eyes open again.

You’re far enough down on his dick now that when you open your eyes and look up at him, you’re met with a slight underside view of his stomach and tits. Clark looks back down at you with clouded eyes and a sweaty brow, meeting your own accidental doe eyes. It’s hard not to look pathetic and needy when you have a dick in your mouth, it’s just what happens. You maintain eye contact as you work your throat, attempting to open it up more to take him further and he whines while looking into your eyes. 

Clark breathes your name once, then shuts his eyes tight as his chest heaves.

“Are you trying t-to make me come?” He asks. His voice sounds pained, but his cock throbs in your mouth as he asks the question.

Well, are you?

He looks close already, even more wrecked than five minutes ago when this “experiment” began. Obviously you want him to come, you’re sucking his dick for gods sake, but he’s just making sure. He’s just being good and making sure that he’s allowed to come. The two of you are losing any inhibitions about this pretense of an experiment and you’re ready to fully let loose.

You can’t respond to his question without pulling off his cock, and you sure as hell don’t want to lose the progress you’ve made on his length, so instead you give in. Reaching up from the floor with your hand, you trail your fingers up his body and then cup his left tit in your hand. His breath catches as he looks down at what you’re doing, and that’s when you rub your thumb over his nipple. It hardens immediately and he lets out a rough moan as you nod, resuming bobbing your head up and down his cock. 

Yes you’re going to make Clark come. You want to make this big, delicious, kind, man come his brains out, either in your mouth or on you, or both.

Whatever efforts you were making previously tenfold as you start to start to jerk off whatever you can’t fit in your mouth with your free hand, the other one still entirely focused on groping the soft fat of his breast and toying with his nipple. Clark starts to let his hips buck up more as he begins to repeat your name, whining each time you stimulate his nipple just right. Drool leaks out of your mouth and onto your balls as you let the back of your throat get pummelled relentlessly. It feels like your brains are melting in your head each time you feel him throb or taste him leaking a little more pre-come. “I’m gonna come,” Clark warns. He says it again, but makes no move to pull you off him. 

Your eyes meet his with some sense of determination, and you hope the bob of your head and the nod of your head don’t look too similar as you try to reply with a nod of “yes, yes, come.” The message, thankfully, is received. Your hands work relentlessly to stimulate him fully through his orgasm as he spills down your throat. You try to keep up with swallowing but it starts to feel like if you don’t pull off of him you’re going to have come drip out of your nose. Finally you jerk back, watching as his cock doesn’t slow down at all, shooting ropes not just on your face and neck, but dripping onto his own thighs too. He’s so noisy as he comes, on top of all the things in motion he’s moaning your name and thanking you.

“Thank you, thank you,” he whimpers, “m sorry it’s such a mess.”

It is such a mess. You didn’t take into account that him having a big dick might mean him having bigger balls, which you certainly won’t neglect if the two of you ever do this again, but now he’s coming so much. Some of it is already half dried on your sleepshirt by the time he’s finished.

Clark’s head rolls back again, his legs falling even further apart, as he catches his breath. He has half a mind to hand you the pants you peeled off him earlier, apologizing for not being able to clean you up properly. It’s a sweet gesture, and you’ll excuse his lack of aftercare since it seems like he just emptied his entire bloodline down your face and shirt. After somewhat cleaning the come off you, you’re surprised as he lifts you up onto the couch, moving his spent cock out of the way so you can sit on him. 

“Thank you,” he says again, pushing his nose against your shoulder, “sorry I ruined your experiment.”

It seems that despite what just happened, Clark will always be the considerate, sweet, guy that he’s always been during his time as your roommate. His breath is soft against your shoulder as his eyes flutter and look down.

“And sorry for ruining your shirt.” 

A giggle pushes its way through your chest and past your aching jaw. “It’s fine. I’ll just take off my shirt next time we try.”

Clark’s posture goes a little rigid at the mention of a next time. He pulls his nose away from your shoulder and looks at you a little curiously. “Next time?” 

You’re quick to respond, shrugging it off casually to avoid the many questions and considerations you’re sure Clark will chatter away at you once his brain rebuilds itself from his orgasm.

“Yeah, next time. I only fit like… half of you in my throat. I think I can do better than that,” you say defiantly. Clark huffs a laugh of disbelief out. “I just need more practice.”

“More practice. Sure,” he agrees softly.

>///<

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